


Ties that Bind

by Amata42



Series: Past Tense [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Glam Rock, Lupercalia, M/M, Marauders' Era, civil war is brewing, dark themes, mostly canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 35,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10069109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amata42/pseuds/Amata42
Summary: Year Six | MWPP-era | primarily RLxSBJames finally gets with Lily; the Death Eaters rise; Remus and Sirius shag; Snape is nearly killed by a werewolf; and many life-changing decisions are made.





	1. 1 September 1976

After a full summer apart, their first kiss at the start of the new school year was nothing like Remus had imagined it would be. He hadn't been able to keep in touch with Sirius Black all summer for one reason or another. The one reason was because he had been required to spend most of the summer at the Werewolf Registry, answering questions, filling out new sets of paperwork, and submitting to testing. It was because of Lupercalia, of course. He might not yet be of age according to wizarding standards, but according to werewolf standards, Remus was full-grown. This meant, according to Werewolf Registry standards, Remus was full-grown _and dangerous_.

The _or another_ reason was that shortly after summer began, Sirius had sent an owl to each of them explaining that his parents were restricting mail to and from his home. All communication, actually, of any form. And Sirius wouldn't be allowed to visit anyone, either.

So Remus spent the summer being poked and prodded by WR officials, wondering desperately how Sirius was doing. What his parents were up to, and why his boyfriend was, literally, being kept under house arrest. And Remus dreamed. He imagined that they would see each other at opposite ends of the train platform, waiting for the Hogwarts Express. The sea of students between them would feel like water, as they pushed through the waves toward each other.

Sirius would wink saucily at him.

Remus would have to choke himself to keep back the hungry growl, ready to fall into Sirius' arms. And then they'd touch - meeting right in the center of the platform. Their hands would clasp, and Sirius would wrap himself around Remus. He'd smell like a summer breeze, and dark chocolate, and leather all at once. Sirius would smile at him, holding Remus close and protecting him finally from all the incessant poking and prodding.

Sirius' hair would be like silk. Like it always is. Ebony silk, just a bit longer than proper - wild from too many carefree hours outside in the sun and the wind. And he'd tip his head down just … so… and whisper, _oh Moony. My summer was empty and lifeless without you by my side._

And their lips would brush, softly, shyly. As if they each worried that perhaps they didn't remember exactly how to kiss. Exactly how their bodies fit together, even though it had _only_ been one simple summer.

But as soon as Remus would feel that pressure, the touch of Sirius against his lips, it would all flood back -vivid and brilliant- as if it were just yesterday that they woke up curled together in bed, and spent an entire Saturday tasting each other.

And Remus wouldn't be able to hold back his hungry growl. He'd wrap his fingers deeply in Sirius' silken hair, and pull their bodies greedily together. Sirius' beautiful, fathomless grey eyes would widen, surprised and aroused by the way Remus would demand more, _much much more_ , right then and there. And their kiss would deepen, and linger. It would, Remus had decided, taste exactly like the best thing in the world- and he would, of course, recognize that taste as soon as it teased across his tongue.

About that time, Remus' mother would call him down for supper. Or his dad would knock on the door and remind Remus, sadly, that they had to go back to the WR tomorrow, so get some sleep… And Remus would do as he was told. But the taste of Sirius Black would linger on his lips, ghosting at his smile for a whole day afterward.

What _really_ happened, however, when they met again on Platform 9¾ on September first had little to do with the reunion between Sirius and Remus, and much more to do with the _or another_ reason that had kept Sirius locked away from his friends all summer.

James found Remus before Sirius did; and, Peter was already at his heels. Sirius Black might have been _the look_ , but somehow James always was the one in charge. Maybe it was simply the way that everyone got _found_ when they were around him. In any case, James Potter wasted no time gathering together his friends, and getting them quickly into their own compartment on the train.

Remus had wanted to hug him happily, and ask excited questions about his summer, and compare their OWL results. James had silenced him with one, quick, sobering look. Something was afoot, and it was clearly something they could not speak about until they were safely tucked away with the door firmly shut. Peter had not been helpful: he merely looked shaky and uncertain, and worried about getting too far away from James. But Peter often looked like that… didn't he?

And then they had found Sirius. Whatever James knew, it was immediately obvious that Sirius knew it too. Meeting quietly, moving between the swarms of Hogwarts students and trunks, Sirius and James shared a knowing glance. Sirius looked awful; with a shudder, Remus remembered that horrible year when Sirius been sent directly to the Hospital Wing. Although he had no outward signs of harm, no bruises or cuts or sprains, Sirius' eyes were brooding and clouded. He seemed to be watching every single person around him carefully, his expressions were closed off. His lips pressed together firmly.

Sirius looked at James, a question in his eyes. James gave a curt nod; his jaw clenched a little. Simultaneously, their eyes flicked over to where Mr. and Mrs. Black were standing with Regulus, shaking hands with the parents of one of his friends - Avery or Nott or whoever it was… Without speaking a word, all four Gryffindors ducked their heads a little, and jostled their way onto the train. Remus ached to touch Sirius, to know that the last year hadn't been a dream. Whatever was going on, it was unsettling and Remus longed for Sirius to break into a broad grin, tell some off-color joke, and then throw his head back carelessly and laugh.

Instead, Sirius wordlessly got up and shut the door the moment Remus had entered the compartment. Then James actually drew his wand and cast a locking charm; Sirius cast an Imperturbable charm, too.

"Just for good measure," he said turning around with a half-hearted shrug, "Just in case."

"I take it you've heard." James said in a low, careful voice.

"Of course I've heard. Think about who my parents are! We've been hosting dinner parties all summer long for… _them_ and _those sort._ " Sirius erupted abruptly, throwing his hands up in frustration. Even Peter seemed to have a vaguely shrewd idea of what was going on.

"Ummm… Prongs? Pads?… What's going on?" Remus asked softly, trying not to let his voice tremble with need and arousal at being so near to Sirius again.

Finally, _finally_ , Sirius turned and gazed at Remus. His eyes were stormy, but Remus could see the longing he had deeply hidden. Of course he'd have to hide it… considering his parents' attitudes about all other aspects of life, it was to be expected, really. Remus silently chided himself for his unrealistic expectations. Sentimental summer _fantasies_ …

Then Sirius reached out with both arms, and trailed his hands from Remus' shoulders to his arms. With one, gentle, fluid motion Sirius pulled Remus up from his seat, and pressed their bodies together. Sirius was gazing at Remus without blinking, as if his eyes alone could devour the sight of the honey-gold boy. His amber eyes, his tousled hair, his meticulously neat outfit… Without a moment's hesitation, Sirius swept Remus into the circle of his arms and pressed their lips together.

Remus felt his eyes flutter shut, lost in the feeling of the firm kiss, solid and real. It was insanely dynamic: starting out gentle but insistent, deepening instantly, spiraling farther and further as their lips parted, their tongues entwined, and they seemed to breath the same air. For one moment, Remus frantically wondered if this kiss would kill them, since it was moving rapidly beyond his ability to comprehend, and didn't seem to be slowing down. His mind was exploding with the overwhelming sensations of Sirius' lips, and his tongue, and firm pressure. Remus was enrapt, his weight lifting upward somehow, defying gravity.

After a full summer apart, their first kiss at the start of the new school year was nothing like Remus had imagined it would be. It was infinitely better.

Finally breaking apart, gasping for a breath, Remus clung to Sirius, not certain he could be pulled too far away now that he had regained _that_. Apparently Sirius felt the same way, because they pulled far enough apart to be able to gaze directly at each other, but Sirius' arms made no motion to allow Remus to leave their tight circle.

 _"I missed you so much, Moony. I was so worried…_ " Sirius breathed softly.

Remus felt hot, his face flushing absurdly. He shivered and licked his suddenly-dry lips. "I missed you too, Padfoot." Remus said, wondering exactly when he had become such a sop, "The full moons were _awful_ without you."

A sharp look of remorse crossed Sirius' face. "Shite. I'm so sorry… We didn't think about that, did we?" His voice was full of guilty pain and genuine apology. "I promise that will _never_ happen again." Sirius wrenched his eyes away from Remus for the briefest glance back over his shoulder, "Right, Prongs?"

James, nonchalantly lounging on the seat, his legs up and ankles crossed, nodded. "Of course, mate." But his voice was heavy, as if they both ought to know better.

The same shadow seemed to cross both of their faces.

"Sirius… what's going on?" Remus whispered.

"…" Sirius dragged his fingers lightly across Remus' cheekbone, tracing the angles of his face.

"… Voldemort." James' voice whispered from somewhere behind them and Peter squeaked nervously.

"Who?" Remus asked, a tight ball of apprehension knotting itself in his stomach.

Sirius, still unwilling to let him go, pulled Remus onto the train seat beside him. And James began explaining what the summer had been like for those of them who had _not_ been forced to spend most of the time as a case-file for the Werewolf Registry.

"It all begins with this bloke…a dark wizard who has been calling himself… Voldemort…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N --   
> _Ties that Bind_ is the fifth in a MWPP-era series called **Past Tense**.   
>  After Ties there will be an Epilogue, to balance the Prologue. And beyond that there are already a bunch of later-years fics I've written that follow this universe. (I can't wait to finish up the main bit of PT so I can finally post those stories - they are some of my favorite fics, and I hope you'll agree). 
> 
> In case you haven't already... I highly, highly suggest that you stop now and go read the first four parts in the Past Tense series. There are many things that will happen in Ties that will make little to no sense, whatsoever, if you haven't read the first five years for The Marauders (plus Snape) at Hogwarts... 
> 
> And for the love of the gods, people, read Punch Lines!! I don't know why everyone seems to skip that one. It's freakin' important! And also happens to have the single most hilarious scene in Hogwart's history.


	2. 10 September 1976

_"I do want to be friends with important people. And you don't get more important than the Malfoys or the Blacks. But Slytherin is overrun with both of those; I'd just be a hanger-on...But Sirius Black is our age, and I heard him get put into Gryffindor instead of with the rest in Slytherin. I though maybe if I was in Gryffindor too, I could be his friend."_

Wormtail sniffed cautiously at the crumbs on the carpet. Most of the time the left-overs were perfectly tasty, but the closer you got to the Dungeons, the higher the risk of inadvertently ingesting a Potions ingredient rather than a morsel left over from tea. Deciding that the crumb was safe enough, Wormtail sat back on his haunches and nibbled at the chunk he deftly grasped with this front paws. Tucked away, near the shadows where floor meets wall, Wormtail thoughtfully prodded at the old half-forgotten memories tucked away in his mind.

_"But Slytherin is overrun with both of those; I'd just be a hanger-on..."_

Funny. But the older they all got, the more it seemed as if Peter Pettigrew had become just exactly that.

He was farther away from Sirius Black more now than ever. James had always been Sirius' best mate; that had been obvious from the first. But the balance had been maintained, not precisely but well enough, for nearly five years. And then Sirius and Remus had to go and snog. And probably shag, too. And a whole handful of other things that even a _rat_ didn't really want to think about.

Wormtail brusquely cleaned the crumbs from his whiskers and sniffed the air. Standing back up, he tentatively placed one paw forward. The castle was a veritable menagerie, complete with owls and kneazles. He could always transform if a owl truly threatened to eat him, but Wormtail had begun to realize something very important. Being a rat had... advantages. And being a rat that nobody knew about had even more.

Darting off along the corridor, Wormtail reveled in the momentary freedom that he felt from the inner pressures that daily threatened to boil over inside Peter Pettigrew.

 _Poor, pathetic Peter Pettigrew_. Wormtail thought with a slight grimace. _When did I stop thinking of myself as 'Peter' and start thinking of myself as something more, something hidden?_

If a rat could have spat in disgust, he would have. Instead, his whiskers twitched.

_Wormtail is much better. Stronger. Smarter. More able to go places and... do things._

At first, returning home for the summer, Peter had thought he would transform for his Father and Mum to show them that they could finally be proud of their miserable excuse for a wizarding son. Then he remembered that if he did, he'd have to register, and that would thoroughly bollocks up the plans that the Marauders made. So, instead, Peter returned home and was berated for his poor marks, his struggles with Transfiguration, and his near-failure in Potions.

Then he'd returned to the same summer job as the whipping boy at the Leaky Cauldron that he'd had for the past two summers.

Then he'd realized that his usual summer job wouldn't be enough. Recently, Father was drunk more often than not, a fact Mum had neglected to explain in her letters during the school year. So Peter had gotten a second job, shelving books nights and weekends at Flourish and Blott's. He longed to learn how to Apparate, so that he would no longer have to begin - and end - his days covered in the ashy soot of Floo powder.

It must have been at Flourish and Blott's that Peter slowly began to grow comfortable with thinking of himself primarily as Wormtail. There had been one night, in early July, just before the store closed, when two strangers met behind one of the out-of-the-way shelves. They had been discussing something important and Peter, kneeling with his pile of inventory one shelf away, recognized the velvety tones of men with power and powerful secrets. Before Peter could even think twice about it, Wormtail was quietly scampering around the shelf and sneaking warily under the haphazardly-stacked books.

" _Yes, I'm certain that Bulstrode and Goyle will suffice, but why not also send Crabbe?"_ one voice had said.

" _Overkill lacks a certain sense of style and subtlety that_ He _desires at this time. Patience, friend, there will come a time.. very soon... that the Goyles and Crabbes and Bulstrodes will be naught but our own hell-hounds unleashed upon the uncouth filth. Dirty Muggles and Mudbloods... Soon we'll have a new order, a new_ world _order, and wizards like you and I will be at the top."_ a silky voice murmured in return. So close to the floor, Wormtail could not twist his strange body up to see their faces; he only saw feet - four feet, and one silver-tipped cane.

" _But how soon, Abraxas? And when will we_ all _gather? When will we make ourselves known to the rest of the wizarding world? I want..._ "

" _It is not what_ you _want that matters."_ the silky voice cut in sharply, no longer effusive but hard now, like steel. " _Just as it is the Muggles' place to serve at our feet, it is your place to serve_ Him _. Or should I tell_ Him _now that you think you could formulate better plans and strategies?_ "

There was a choked whimpering for reply, and some muffled words that Wormtail did not catch; and then the door chimed as someone left the store, and Wormtail recalled that he was supposed to be shelving stock, not eavesdropping on customers. He turned tail and ran just as quickly as he had come. One thing was certain, there was something important going on, something secret and dangerous. Something that felt cold and exciting all at the same time, like the last winds of autumn that brought the first snows of winter. And there was Someone making it all unfold.

Peter thought about shelving books. He thought about the soggy rags that hung from his smock while he picked up after the messy crowds at the Leaky Cauldron. Peter thought about picking up empty bottles after his Father, and about picking up the pieces of his Mum as she let more and more of herself slip away. Peter thought about picking up the last lines of a joke, as the rest of the Marauders forgot to wait for him before starting the conversation.

Peter thought about shelving books, and about getting left behind.

Wormtail might be smaller than Prongs, than Padfoot, than Moony. They might have longer legs, and run ahead of little Wormtail into the Forest every month. But maybe, just maybe, Wormtail would go first in something... just once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> \- _I'm intrigued that your Wormtail never discovered he could ride on Padfoot or Prongs during Forest excursions. One more lack-of-closeness between him & them... _
> 
> Yes, I've seen many fics where MWPP are just tight as can be, and the little rat rides around on Prongs and everything is peaches and cream... until suddenly the rat just decides to up and destroy everyone. That's just not right. I believe that there was a rift between them, something that started out small and trivial - but they were young men and suddenly thrust into a growing civil war. Lines had to be drawn, and by that point the little rift must have grown into a great divide. I hope that _Ties_ will show a steady progression of "little things" that culminate in a believeable Peter - one whose friendship is the very thing that turns it all around and makes him become the thing that he became.


	3. 9 October 1976

"If it doesn't stop bleeding soon, we might have to take him to Madam Pomfrey."

" _He_ is still conscious and listening, you know."

"But she'll want to know what happened to him! What would we say? And _Moony_ is there today, too. She'll suspect something. He _can't_ go."

" _He_ is still in the room!"

"Pads, don't be a prat. He's hurt. Pomfrey doesn't matter; we'll come up with some good excuse for him."

" _He_ can come up with his own excuses!"

"But Prongs, we wouldn't _be_ in this mess if he had stuck to the plan. He can handle a scratch or two."

" _He_ didn't mess up the dratted plan!"

"Pads it's not his fault that Hagrid had a giant-whatever-it-was hidden in his hut. And it's more than a scratch or two! He's practically bleeding to death."

" _He_ isn't _that_ feeble, guys."

"Fine! You win, Prongs. Take the pathetic git to the Hospital Wing. Say a dog bit him for all I care."

Sirius Black turned and stomped out of the dormitory in a huff. James Potter ran his hand through his messy hair with a sigh. He stood still for a long moment staring at the half-closed doorway.

"Idiot." He finally murmured. "He's not a git."

" _He's_ not pathetic either." Peter muttered to himself. But it still rubbed him the wrong way that Padfoot clearly valued Moony over Wormtail, and Prongs clearly felt disappointed that Wormtail hadn't added anything to the Precious Map last night. It really wasn't fair that he almost single handedly added most of the important details to that dratted piece of parchment. Anyone could get the interiors of all the classrooms; anyone could nick Prongs' Cloak and get the Kitchens or the Prefect's bathroom. But it was Wormtail who got all the rest, all the tricky bits.

And he was never thanked properly for it, either.

Not so much as a "gosh, Wormtail, that was brilliant of you." They only noticed when he bollocksed things up. Gits just didn't appreciate what Wormtail was capable of… _they_ just didn't grasp the scope of what he could provide for them. They just didn't think of Peter Pettigrew that way. And since they thought of him as ickle Peter Pettigrew, they _didn't_ think of him as Wormtail. And so they missed out.

Wormtail knew better. He knew that invisibility was the bane of Peter Pettigrew's existence, but the same invisibility was the tool that Wormtail would use to build up his future. Invisibility, better than Prongs' stupid Cloak, was the key to information.

Wouldn't Prongs just _die_ if he realized that Wormtail could tell him the color of Lily Evans' knickers?

Wouldn't Padfoot just _worship_ Wormtail if he realized he could access the guarded secrets of Slytherin House?

Wouldn't Moony be _beside himself_ if he realized that Wormtail knew names of students in the school who had been talking about some secret alliance with werewolves and other so-called Dark Creatures?

Peter Pettigrew wouldn't need two summer jobs anymore; not as long as Wormtail had something to offer everyone. He'd make his Father proud, and he'd hold his family together. And he'd show his friends that he was worth their attention. Information was the key to keeping on top as the rest of the wizarding world fell apart. Information could be sold; information could be manipulated. Information could keep a man safe; information could kill a man.

He'd show them all…

Just as soon as Pomfrey was done healing his mangled right arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> _\- I really liked the last paragraph, and the last line.... Is the 'mangled' arm a foreshadowing of the Dark Mark?_
> 
> Thanks. The "Peter" sections of this fic were some of the hardest for me to write... Just ask my beta, she and I went back and forth over those sections like nothing else. Well, except for maybe The Sex Scene... I draw heavily on the character foundations I wrote out in the Prologue to the Past Tense series. Any time I forget Peter's motivation, I go back and reread his section in Prologue. 
> 
> The mangled arm _does_ foreshadow Peter's future - but the Dark Mark goes on the left arm! - this one was an allusion to the way that Wormtail will eventually cut off his own right arm to bring Voldie back.


	4. 23 October 1976

Augustus Turpin and Pitaras Patil used the Hogsmeade weekend to catch up on some studying. With Hallowe'en just around the corner, and exams shortly thereafter, no one thought twice about the studious Ravenclaws choosing to spend the sunny day in a corner of the library. Only half paying attention to their open books, the two boys cast wary glances at the library doors.

"Gus… what if this isn't a good idea?" Patil murmured to his companion. He ran his fingers nervously over the parchment before him. "It is not an honorable thing to do, what we are doing here. We could simply _study_ as we have led the rest to believe we are doing…"

"Pete, don't go on like that again." Turpin replied smoothly. "You know that I'm perfectly willing to study the old-fashioned way, but I will do this for you. You know that you _need_ top-notch grades this term. You said it yourself: if your grades slip any more, you'll likely be sent back to your parents. To India. In disgrace! What sort of a friend would I be to just let that happen? No. We're in this together, you and me. I'm doing this _for you_."

Patil had the decency to look ashamed.

He smiled weakly at his friend and admitted silently that he would stoically spend the rest of his life repaying the dark mark on his honor, if only he could remain in England. Remain, get a Ministry job, and earn enough to send for his parents and sisters. It was a small price to pay for a worthy reason, and he was just one person. He could carry the burden of the debt with nobility and courage, for his whole family.

Besides, the debt would be very small indeed, if nobody caught them.

Augustus Turpin watched his friend's inner struggle and smiled. Top marks were nothing to be laughed at. With the wizarding world going rapidly downhill, it was best to hedge your bets; better to be seen as worthwhile for something than to be seen as worthless chattel. These days, the chattel were dropping like flies.

With their eyes trained on the doorway, they never saw the cloaked student arrive behind them. There wasn't that much to see anyway: one moment there was nothing there. The next moment, there was a wizard standing, his plain black cloak and hood hiding his face.

"As smart as you Ravenclaws are supposed to be… you never learn to watch your backs," a soft voice snickered. Patil jumped slightly, and his face grew pale. Fixing his eyes nervously at the book before him, he swallowed tightly. Turpin, however, hardly flinched. He turned his head slightly, so that he could see the newcomer out of the corner of his eye.

"Well spotted." He admitted, then coldly got down to business. "Did you bring it then?"

"I did. Did you bring the money?" the voice replied. Turpin thought perhaps the voice squeaked a bit at the end of the question, but he also thought better than to mention it. Instead, Turpin nodded to Patil.

"Oy, Pete. The galleons." Patil nodded miserably. Two galleons, per person, per test was really a reasonable price. Even final exams were included, and the price was fixed rather than sliding based on class or type of exam. It was very sensible and practical after all.

As Patil reached into the pocket of his robes, the quiet student whispered: "Okay, blokes. Here's how we'll do this. You just… sit there. I'm going... I'm going to place a copy of the exam folded… inside _Hogwarts: A History_. Yes. You know the book? Right. That's it, then. Wait two minutes, and then go pick up the book. Leave the galleons on the shelf in its place."

Patil nodded, his eyes downcast. The coins felt heavy in his pocket.

"How do we know it's any good?" Turpin asked snidely. "We'll be out two galleons each, and you'll be having a good laugh."

"Do you think I'm lying?" the cloaked student bristled, clearly sore about something. "Do you think I'm not _capable_ of holding my end of a deal?" There was a subtle shift as the student moved his arms angrily under his cloak. "Besides," he added hotly, "I was able to get in here, _behind_ you."

"Well, I guess that's true…" Turpin admitted, narrowing his eyes.

"So it's on then." The student said. Patil thought perhaps he sounded almost _relieved._ "From now on, I will… I will not meet with you. Instead, before tests, I'll send you an owl with the day and time for … for the swap."

"Fair enough." Turpin agreed. Beside him, Patil shifted uncomfortably. Turpin turned his eyes briefly to his friend, but it was long enough. The other student disappeared before Turpin could see how he did it.

"That's it then." Patil said to himself.

"Pete. Just think of your mum." Turpin said smoothly.

Neither boy saw the small rat running carefully in the shadows along the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> _\- I *love* how this scene echoes a Death Eater encounter - the uncertainty, the whole "are we sure this is right? oh yeah, some promised better-future will make it OK to do these morally questionable things... it's not *that* wrong, is it?" angle is wonderful. Also, I like how you're handling Wormtail, & the (sneaky) things he gets up to when he's alone. He's becoming very believable. (I still want more, greedy Slytherin that I am, but what you have here & in the earlier chapter is *perfect.*) _
> 
> Well, Peter had to start somewhere didn't he? He wasn't just a Marauder one day and a traitorous Death Eater the next! And don't forget that history might tell us who the victor was - but history can't always explain why the "loser" was fighting in the first place. Sometimes we forget that "the other side" believes in what they are doing just as much as "we" do... morality can be quite ambiguous at times, and what really is the difference between "us" and "them" but the accident of who manages to come out on top?


	5. 1 November 1976

"Blessed Samhain" the young man in the shadows whispered. It was the one he had come to meet, then.

Wormtail scurried into the empty dungeon corridor behind the boy and transformed. He very carefully made certain that his cloak covered him completely, and his hood was drawn so as to entirely hide his face. He could take no chances with this one; unlike Ravenclaws out for better grades, you never really knew what Slytherins were after. This one was definitely Slytherin, but Wormtail did not know anything else. That's how Wormtail knew he was a Slytherin in the first place. Only a Slytherin would be so apt at keeping his identity shady. Well, a Slytherin, or an unregistered Animagus like Wormtail.

"Well met." Wormtail whispered in response. The shadowed figure did not even flinch when Wormtail spoke behind him. Dratted Slytherins, the flinching was half the fun.

"A friend told me you were looking for some extra tutoring in Defense?" the shadow asked, falsely polite.

"Well, my friend wasn't _entirely_ accurate." Wormtail slowly feigned. "I'm doing… an extended... independent study…on Dark Creatures. I hardly need _tutoring_ on the subject." Wormtail smirked inwardly. No more tutoring that he got for himself, once a month courtesy of his fellow Gryffindors. "But I was asking around my … _friends_ … to find others with … similar interests."

"Oh, I see now." The shadow replied, the pattern of their dialogue like a careful back-and-forth of the Quaffle. Wormtail briefly wondered what ridiculous name the playbook would give this: the Thinly-Veiled-Triple-Pass? the Double-Speak-Easy?

"Perhaps," Wormtail mused idly, "it would be nice to write a comparison piece about the different arguments for or against Dark Creatures. My focus is werewolves, by the way."

"That's incredibly interesting," the shadow mimicked a Ravenclaw, "but where ever will you find an argument _for_ werewolves? Certainly not in the library… I've looked before."

"Yes, well. That's where I was hoping _you_ might be able to assist?"

"Is that what your _friend_ told you?"

"Maybe. Or it could have been a friend of my friend. I can't rightly recall."

"On which side would your thesis fall, do you think?" the shadow asked with a bemused tone of voice.

"Honestly, I _might_ just argue for." Wormtail said as if pondering the thought for the first time. "It would be such a challenge."

"Are you a Gryffindor, then, that you would leap at a challenge?" the shadow teased.

"Are you a Slytherin, then, that you would be able to assist in arguing _for_ a Dark Creature's place within wizarding society?"

"Touché, salesman" was the wry response. Wormtail didn't quite understand the strange phrase, but pressed the conversation forward anyway.

"I had thought my thesis might be pro-integration. My main arguments resting on the utterly normal characteristics of a werewolf for a full 27 out of 28 days in a lunar month. I know females that are less than sociable for seven solid days, not just one particular night, and we don't force _them_ to register with the Ministry."

"Oh oh," the shadow chortled. "Yes, but perhaps we should."

"In any event, during the ordinary days of the month, it seems to me that werewolves are no more or less of a threat to non-werewolves." Wormtail shrugged.

"I think you're wrong." The shadow's voice was suddenly sharp and chilling. Wormtail shifted nervously, eyes darting around the darkened hallway and peering into the shadow. Had he been mislead? Had he misjudged or misstepped?

Wormtail cleared his throat anxiously, and finally the shadow continued.

"I would assume that werewolves are vicious and powerful as givens. And thus, no matter what day of the month it might be. I wouldn't _want_ werewolves to be fully integrated, perfectly _normal_ members of the wizarding world."

Wormtail fingered his wand indecisively, but something in the shadow's tone of voice caught his ear. It was the same sort of voice a mother uses on her toddler when the child calls a tulip a pansy. Right general idea, wrong specifics. Despite himself, Wormtail was intrigued.

"Go on," he whispered, trying to incorporate _vicious and powerful_ with his image of Remus J. Lupin. It wasn't working very well.

"My thesis would then argue that it is possible to have an _anti-integration_ stance that is simultaneously _pro-werewolf_. That would be a much harder challenge for your Gryffindorian research ethic."

"Explain." Wormtail ignored the shot at Gryffindors. Only a Gryffindor would rise to the bait, and Wormtail's identity was at stake in a game like that.

* * *

 

In the shadows, Nott smoothly arched an eyebrow. _Tricky, tricky, this one is. Clever, but not nearly clever enough. He should be able to see what I mean already._

"It seems to me that the arguments, both _for_ and _against,_ have all been written from the normal wizard's perspective. It assumes that what is _best_ for the singular wizard is also _best_ for the whole of the wizarding community. An interesting research topic might be the effect of Ministry regulation and public opinion on the health and well-being of the werewolf his or herself."

"What difference would the perspective make?" the boy in the cloak asked after a prolonged pause. Nott reigned in his impatience. This stranger had already demonstrated a few worthwhile skills that would be useful in the future. Nott had specific instructions to cultivate a working relationship and, if possible, secure the boy's ongoing services.

"Seen from a werewolf's point of view, the anti-werewolf stance espoused by the Ministry contributes to a divided sense of self. Don't you think? A werewolf must be a _normal_ wizard for 27 days, a snarling savage beast for one night, and then pretend it never happened the morning after! A carefully reasoned essay might argue that the Ministry laws and werewolf regulations do nothing more than hold werewolves back and force them to repress."

"Oh…" the boy in the cloak seemed genuinely confused for a brief second.

"Hypothetically," Nott continued smoothly, "if I had a friend who was a werewolf… and I truly wanted what was best for my friend… wouldn't it be better if I let him be fully himself, all 28 days of the month?"

"That would make you _pro-werewolf_ … but _anti-integration_?" the boy mumbled as if thinking very carefully about something, and only paying half a mind to his question.

"I read somewhere that werewolves have heightened senses and strength. In addition, they have an elevated metabolism and a very robust immune system. I can think of quite a few situations where a super-strong friend with sharp senses would come in handy… can't you?"

"Yes… yes I can…" the boy answered slowly, drawing is cloak tightly around his fists. "He would be able to smell things, or see things. He'd be able to… hear what people were _whispering_. He'd be able to hear what _teachers_ were whispering! He'd always get the upper hand in a fight… I bet his reflexes would be brilliant as well…" the boy's voice trailed off bitterly.

 _That was an unexpected response._ Nott mused, carefully weighing the silence. A thought struck him, and he decided to test his theory. "Just imagine what a werewolf unhindered by Ministry laws and social repugnance could _do_ for his friends. Why, any wizard who befriended a werewolf would be a force to be reckoned with!"

 _Merlin, we have a winner_. Nott smirked as waves of resentfulness and anger radiated from the boy in the cloak. _He must know a werewolf. A friend that never shared the benefits, as it were._ Nott licked his lips and wondered briefly if he had just inadvertently ruined a good friendship. _Oh well,_ he thought dryly, _divide and conquer and all that rot..._

"It's an intriguing angle…for my research…" the boy in the cloak choked out, "one I've never… considered before… Are you sure… I mean, would you conjecture… that all werewolves are like that …ummm… underneath?"

"Oh yes," Nott replied airily. "I would. How could they not be? Sure, everyone has their own unique personality… but a _wolf_ is a _wolf_ , after all."

"You're right…" the boy in the cloak muttered, his voice petulant. "This _is_ a more… challenging… point of view. I will have to… think about it more."

And then Nott watched the cloak shift back down the darkened corridor, and in the blink of an eye it was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> Yes, I _am_ the sort of fanfic author who believes that if the wizarding world had an unofficial religion, it would be some sort of paganism.  
>  And yes, that was a shameless quote from Family Guy ( "Touche salesman"). I'm actually in the Wormtail camp on that one; my siblings expose me to Family Guy, but I can't say that I've ever actually seen that particular episode.
> 
> _\- If Wormtail *really* wanted to know who he's talking to, he could just check the Map... it is his Map, after all..._
> 
> Yes, I suppose you have a point. But maybe Wormtail, for all his "smarts," just doesn't think of it. Seems like a Peter thing to do: get all huffy and indignant towards his friends and how they totally underestimate his contributions - but then completely forget about using it to his advantage. Perhaps I'm selling him short.. Maybe Wormtail thought about using the Map to find out who the shady Slytherin is, but couldn't sneak it away from James and Sirius. Maybe they'd want to know why he needed it, and that would risk exposing Wormtails... extracurricular.... activities.
> 
> _\- Nott's logic is beginning to sound a lot like Greyback's (except without the latent pedophilia). Are we going to meet (or hear about) any Darkside werewolves?_
> 
> Probably not. I agree that Nott sounds a lot like Greyback (minus the squicky child-eating aspect). I think that canon representations of the Death Eaters sell them short. Of course, canon is mostly from Harry's POV, so I wouldn't expect much else. But I feel, especially during the first war, that there had to be something _intelligent_ about what Voldemort was saying or doing, something that would _attract_ people to his service. Men with money and power and the respect of their society don't just throw that all away for nothing, you know. They had to believe in what they were doing, and they had to believe that it would be for the best. How to deal with werewolves is just one example of how Death Eaters might have been thinking critically about the social issues of the day - it's a different angle than you would usually hear, but if you hear it just right... it makes a scary amount of sense. You might start questioning what you've been told... You might start to wonder a bit...
> 
> Well, put thoughts of Nott and Wormtail and the rest aside for a bit... They'll come up again later, but now it's time to check back in with the rest of the Marauders and, of course, Severus Snape.


	6. 6 November 1976 (The Weakness)

 A moment of weakness.

These things always begin with a moment of weakness. Severus Snape could close his eyes and see in the darkness of his mind every single moment of weakness he had ever experienced. Even second-hand weakness - like every argument that resulted in his mother, bruised and crumpled like a pale, shivering rag doll on the floor. Every single confrontation with Father in which Severus had mistakenly lost control, and subsequently lost the upper hand. Each time his mind wandered idly in a school hallway, and the moment would be exploited by any number of the other students who had taken a dislike to Severus Snape.

A moment of weakness.

Weakness of the mind: not paying keen attention, constantly. Not being quick enough, or agile enough, or perceptive enough. Not remaining two steps ahead, plotting and planning; forgetting to ensure an escape route.

Weakness of the body: not strong enough, not big enough. Not enough physical presence to fend off attacks, not enough ability to absorb blows or roll with the punches. Not manly enough to demand that his foes face him head on - they always took shots, snickering, while his back was turned.

And now, Severus thought with an intense wave of disgust and loathing, he had to add weakness of the heart to the list.

It was inevitable, really. Thinking back, Severus could see plainly that this moment had been six years in the making. From that very first connection, their very first year, at the train station - Severus' heart had been a ticking time bomb. He should have known. Perhaps he did know, and despite all of his efforts to curtail the event, it was destined to occur anyway. Weakness, after all, was by definition something beyond his control.

These were the death-throes of his heart. Severus knew it with cold, calculated certainty. If he had been a Gryffindor, Severus would have described it as the swan song of his emotions. As a Slytherin, however, he would never allow such mawkish, insipid sentiments to escape his thinly pressed lips.

Severus, however, felt a grudging sort of pride at the brilliantly horrific situation his heart had deigned appropriate for its final adieu. If - and this was a rather huge if - IF Severus survived his heart's last stand, he would certainly savor the revenge he would plan for Sirius Black. But first, Severus had to somehow keep himself from going down in a blaze of bloody glory as his heart was torn from his pathetically weak body.

 _It is really for the best,_ Severus thought coldly scorning the burning feeling in his chest, _If Sirius Black tears out what is left of my…emotions… I will be left with unimpeded logic and precision. Which is what I would prefer anyway. More's the pity for Black and his maudlin Gryffindors; I will become a wizard to reckon with, and he will always play a fool for his bleeding heart._

But the stakes were rather high this time around. As Severus gazed, frozen and pale, at the boy blocking the only exit, he knew that his first priority was staying alive. That quickly blurred edges with his second priority: ensuring that nobody else in the entire school discovered the reason _why_ Sirius Black was about to beat him within an inch of his life.

And it all boiled down to one moment of weakness.

Everyone at Hogwarts knew by now, although nobody actually said anything out loud about it. But everyone knew, just the same, that Sirius Black and Remus Lupin spent just a little too much time _together_. It was in _that way_. It was the sort of thing that wasn't unheard of, but was certainly frowned upon by most respectable wizards. It was certainly taboo for a pureblood such as Black. It was viewed as an intriguing study in human nature by Ravenclaws. It was defended courageously as a human-rights issue by Gryffindors. It was debated with uncertainty by family-minded Hufflepuffs.

It was condemned thoroughly and without exception by Slytherins.   
Except for those who could entertain their own private lives without compromising their public identities. But there were no Slytherins who would do something so disgraceful anyway. If there were any, they handled their - _situation_ \- with such adept precision that no one was any wiser.

Staring at Sirius Black, shaking with cold fury, Severus knew that this moment called for all the adept precision that he had within himself; or it would simply be the first day of the end of his life. If Sirius did not kill him outright in some over-blown sense of Gryffindorian loyalty and protectiveness; then the other Slytherins most certainly would. But for different reasons, of course.

And if the Slytherins didn't kill him, Father had already tried once before, with less proof. This time, there would not be any hesitation or uncertainty. He could almost feel the grip of Father's furious hands around his neck already. Severus would simply cease to exist.

Pressing his back against the cold stone of the bathroom wall, Severus hated himself for his weaknesses. He hated his treacherous eyes for telling his secrets to Sirius Black, when Severus would not even tell them to himself. He hated Sirius Black, and he hated James Potter, and he hated all Gryffindors, in general.

Except for one.

And that was the _why_ that Sirius Black was about to kill him for; that was the _why_ that no one else could ever be allowed to know about.

Sirius had caught one moment of weakness, one brief glance at just the wrong moment, in just the wrong way. The last chink in the impenetrable wall that Severus had erected. The cold, solid wall that now stood between Severus and Remus Lupin; and Severus knew, seeing the cold disdainful hate seething from every inch of Sirius Black, that wall would never, _never_ , be approached again.

If he lived that long.

"You _love_ him." The voice was surprisingly steady, considering the fury and loathing dripping from each syllable. Severus shuddered involuntarily, reflexively pushing the words, the implications, and the mental images as far away as possible. He would not give Sirius Black the pleasure of begging or groveling, so Severus clenched his jaw tightly, tasting blood as he bit angrily through his tongue.

"Didn't I _tell_ you before- _he is not your anything._ Not your friend. Not your _boyfriend_." The stormy grey eyes flashed, the body still glowering -livid- in the doorway. "That is _my_ place, _Snivellus. Do. You. Under. Stand?"_

It wasn't really a question.   
Severus didn't really have an answer.

Sirius Black didn't really want answers. The door behind him was shut and locked. The room had been silenced with a charm. The intention was very, very clear.

"I should have known," Sirius' voice continued ranting, pounding like punches against Severus' exposed skin, "I should have _known_ , the moment I laid eyes on you… I _knew_ you were a greasy, slimy, shirt-lifting, _nancy_. A _queer fuck_ , with no decency. _It's the sort like you that make everyone else hate us_."

Severus' wand lay on the floor beneath the drain-pipe of the third sink on the right. But that didn't matter anyway, Sirius' words pinned him against the wall; cold staves slammed right through his twisting gut. With the exception that Father hated _those queer wankers_ for being abnormal, Sirius sounded exactly like him. Same words and tone of voice and everything. If the situation had not been so dire, Severus would have been fascinated by the striking similarity between the pureblooded wizard scion and the disgusting Muggle bigot. It would have been worth pondering.

Then Sirius advanced, his own wand forgotten. His curled fist jerked back, raised for the assault with familiar revulsion. The world began to bleed, a hazy red veil descending over the violent clash of images and sounds. Sharp stings and the deep, muscle-aching _thwump_ of blows mixing with the vicious torrent of words pouring from Sirius' mouth.

"…would _never_ care about _you_ …" _phhummph_

"… dirty, devious… greasy git…" _whack_

"... how dare you …" _slap_

"…disgusting… wanting what is _mine_ …" _thwump, thwump, thwump_

 

"He… doesn't… _belong_ … to _anyone_ … _Black_ …least… of… all… _you_."

 

And there was a frozen silence as Severus leaned his spinning head back against the cold stone wall, and gazed at the fist that was curled just inches away from his cheekbone.

There was a trickle of blood running from his nose down over his torn lips. Black's eyes widened briefly in shocked horror, and then narrowed viciously.

"You know… _Snivellus_ … you're right …" Black hissed, his voice deadly. It sliced like steel through the air. The fist abruptly altered course; grabbed Severus' robes at his throat and pushed him harder against the wall. "He only belongs to himself."

Suddenly Severus knew that whatever was going to happen next was infinitely worse than just another beating. The cold familiarity of merely being bullied rapidly transfigured into a twisting Devil's Snare in his gut.

"I wonder…" Sirius seethed quietly, "I wonder if _you_ understand what it would mean…to _belong to him_."

"Follow him." A suggestion. A sneer. A challenge. A command. Deadly and boasting at the same time. _Follow him, like I am able to follow him, just try and see if you could ever be my equal._

"Next Saturday. There's a passage, under the Whomping Willow. If you use a long enough stick, you just tap the right place at the base - there's a particular knot- and the tree will freeze."

The grey eyes leered, as if laughing at Severus' failure already.

"If you go, if you follow him next Saturday, just tell him then to tell me to leave you alone. If _he_ tells me to leave you alone, I will never touch a greasy hair on your pathetic head, _again_." There was a goading smirk twisting cruelly at Black's face, his eyes full of bitterness. And yet there was also the smallest hint of buried … fear.

It was the fear that did it.

Normally Severus would never be so moronic as to accept a puerile dare from a snot-nosed jealous Gryffindor. But there was something compelling about the fear. About the idea that Black was afraid of something; or even, afraid of Severus. The idea swelled inside of his hollow body, and his mind became fixed.

 _If_ he watched, and _if_ Re- _he_ really did go through this secret passage, then Severus would follow him. For once, he would be the master of something that Black feared.

The cold defiance must have shown in his eyes, because Sirius tightened his grip on Severus' robes and brought his wand up. A curse was on his lips when Sirius abruptly turned his head ever-so-slightly to the side. His face was strained, as if listening to something; Severus was pressed against the wall, momentarily forgotten. For a fleeting instant, Severus thought wildly that Sirius looked very much like a dog when it hears a dog whistle being blown. But then Sirius suddenly released his robes and stepped back. The wand remained pointed wickedly at Severus' throat, but Sirius' free hand was digging around his pocket.

Severus scowled furiously for being so easily forgotten by the high-and-mighty Sirius Black.

Black pulled a small, round mirror out of his pocket and grinned wildly.

"Wotcher Prongs." He said to the mirror in his hand. Severus could not hear any reply, but evidently _James Potter_ was using the mirror to communicate with Black in some fashion.

"Oh, just taking care of some… business…" Sirius' eyes flicked briefly over to Severus, narrowing into a menacing glare.

"No. I didn't hurt him too badly. This time."

"Of course… of course. Bugger that… Okay, we can meet at our usual place."

"Well it's not my fault that Wormtail's got extra tutoring with some Ravenclaws. When else are we going to plan?"

"Yeah… … … I'll tell him that. See you in a few."

The mirror slid back into his pocket. Sirius, his face now a haughty grin, glared wickedly at Severus.

"Well." He said, lowering his wand, and assuming an irksome air of nonchalance, "This little chat has been quite delightful. I'd love to do it more often; as many times as it takes, in fact, until you understand - _Snivellus_ \- that _my boyfriend_ is entirely out of your league."

Severus returned Sirius' glare with a look of loathing. He bit his tongue even harder, telling himself that Black's ridiculous aspersions were baseless and deserved no response. At least, that's what he told himself. Over and over again.

 _And,_ Severus added with extra ire, _damn that bastard Potter for butting in. As if I needed his intervention to get out of this spat relatively unscathed…_

"Oh, and," Sirius said as he strolled casually toward the exit, lazily muttering a quick _Finite Incantatem_ , "Potter says that you really ought to keep your nose clean this year, Snivellus. But, seeing as how your nose is rather _huge_ , I imagine that's a task quite beyond your capabilities."

Severus clenched his fists. _Oh yes, damn that bastard Potter._

Before the thought was even complete, Black had ducked back out of the loo with a mocking, dismissive wave of the hand.

_And damn you, too, Sirius Black. Prick.  
We'll just see who's on top - after Saturday._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> You wouldn't believe how many times my beta and I fought back and forth about the descriptions in this chapter! At one point in time, she offered me the following critique: _Yes, I know this got changed on my suggestion, but I was wrong - now this reads like those (awful) lines in HBP about "the animal in Harry's chest (cringe.)" Don't know what to suggest about this - I like the metaphor but it comes across as cheesy._ (This is in reference to the "Devils Snare in his gut" description. I ended up leaving it alone, simply because I was at a loss as to what to do with it instead.) Would you believe that we even had a bit of a row about Sev's grammar? I still stand by what I said before: even when getting the snot beat out of him, Severus Snape would _never_ use incorrect grammar.
> 
> _\- I think it's a *really* inaccurate portrayal of Slytherin to say that they condemn homosexuality. Not necessarily inaccurate, though, among the Slytherins and DE's that Snape associates with (Lucius Malfoy, I'm sure, has paid off the Prophet several times to keep his "shenanigans" out of the news). But - damn, this all goes back to the "not all Slytherins are DEs" arguments that have been done to death. Grr to it all._
> 
> I probably agree with you. But there's two things to remember: (1) these are Slytherins "back then," perhaps times have changed a bit, and Slytherins are more liberal now. and (2) Notice how I begin with a solid statement (" _thoroughly and without exception..._ ") and then go on to describe the various _exceptions_! Remember who the DEs are at this point in time: Purebloods, aristocrats, monied scions, and disenchanted snobs. They are all about the image. I'm sure most of them are flaming ponces, but you'd never know it because they're obsessed with keeping up appearances.
> 
> _\- "Follow him, like I am able to follow him; just try and see if you could ever be my equal." ... Ooh, this is excellent! How arrogant and cruel and so very Slytherin… I think a lot of why I like this is due to a pet theory I have that Snape could have so easily turned out to be like Black, and vice versa - which I think is an idea you've had too. Also, this is a great setup for the Prank - I like that you're making Sirius totally and completely responsible, and so calculating (too many authors forget that he's both very intelligent and very cruel)._
> 
> Yes, I agree that my two boys could easily have been the other. I've played on it before, in earlier parts in the series - especially how similar their names are (Severus and Sirius)... Also, they are both in love with the same young werewolf... Imagine what Hogwarts would have been like if Snape and Black had both ended up in the same house! And you are very, _very_ , correct about Sirius Black's intelligence, at least, pre-Azkaban. After 12 years, all bets are off. 
> 
> _\- Sirius talking to James through the mirror reminds me very much of that scene in "Kill Bill" where, while The Bride is being beaten by the Vipers, O-Ren's lieutenant is in the background, calmly talking on the cell phone. Very film-y (if that makes sense), and placed as it is, this works very well._
> 
> And sometimes you people really scare me. Thanks... I think.


	7. 6 November 1976 (The Snitch)

"Oi, Peter! You surprised me, mate. Don't go sneaking up on a bloke like that. Or we'll have to get you a collar with a bell or something." James grinned, his hand still pressed over his heart. With his other hand, he mockingly punched at Peter's shoulder. The boy who, until a few seconds ago had been a rat running along the corridor, frowned briefly. Then he gave James Potter a brilliant grin and opened his mouth to say something.

"Practicing your transformation for tonight, then?" James said over him, glancing about to make sure they were alone. "It's a good idea, you know; I think you're getting better at it."

The frown shadowed across the boy's face again. He pushed it aside, and punched back. James Potter dodged his fist as easily as a Chaser dodging a Bludger.

"I was looking for you, Prongs." Peter Pettigrew said in a rush. "Come on, it's brilliant…"

"What is?"

"It's _Snape_." Peter's laugh was little better than a rusty giggle. His face was a weird twist of glee, nervousness, and fierce hunger. It was the fierce hunger that made the twist so shocking. It rather made his whole face somewhat pointy and pinched. James blinked at his friend, suddenly uncertain. His face looked vaguely like he was about to transform into his rat Animagus form, but the boy did not magically shift away. Instead the pudgy face continued to grin eagerly.

"What's Snivellus up to now?" James asked.

"He's heading toward the Entrance Hall just now. Looking shifty. Or, shiftier than usual," came the reply. Peter leaned in toward James, practically drooling in boyish anticipation. He was staring earnestly, or perhaps sharply, at James - as if watching very carefully for a particular response. As if they were about to share an inside joke. James wondered what the joke was, and vaguely felt as if this were a test of some sort.

"The Entrance Hall?" James asked, his pace down the corridor slowing suddenly. Something wasn't quite right with this situation - besides how queerly Peter was acting - something else was teasing just at the back of James' mind. Like a persistent snitch at his ear.

"Yeah." Peter said, stopping to stand next to James again. The strange fierce hunger was back in his eyes again. It was unsettling. "He's going to get his now." Peter continued, reaching up unconsciously to grasp at James' sleeve. "See - I just found out that he's a -"

"The Entrance Hall!" James gasped, finally catching at the snitch. "Is Moony already… where's Pads?"

"Yes, and he's out there too," Peter said as if brushing aside a tangent. "But, Prongs, listen - "

"Sirius is out there?" James interrupted again. His face was pale, his eyes growing frantic. James Potter began moving again, swiftly turning toward the Entrance Hall himself. "Of all the dumb times for Snivellus to go for a stroll!" He cursed.

"Prongs! Listen to me!" Peter stomped once, and then scrambled after the swiftly moving boy ahead of him. "Sirius _knows_. He _told_ Snape to go!"

"WHAT?!" James erupted, speeding up even more.

"I was … going to…. but then…." Peter panted wildly. "… we'll be… too late to… watch… anyway…"

"WATCH?" James skidded around a corner, shooting an incredulous look over his shoulder at Peter. "We've got to _stop_ him!"

"But… I found out… Snape's _father_ … see, the Slytherins… and Death Eaters… they will just… James - _wait for me_!"

But there was already too much distance between them, and James Potter wasn't listening to Peter Pettigrew anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> _\- Ouch! Wormtail spends more time transformed than any of the others - he should be giving Prongs pointers on inconspicuously sneaking about the castle in animal form! (Prongs never could manage it - those dratted antlers kept tangling in loose-hanging tapestries, and the 4th or 5th suit of armor he knocked over got *really* pissed off & started calling for the house-elves to serve venison for tomorrow's dinner. Padfoot, while equally bad at stealth, did get to tree not only Mrs. Norris but also a very startled McGonagall. Twenty years later, when McGonagall will discover Sirius' animagus form, there will be trouble.) _
> 
> Don't you just love my beta?
> 
> Hang on kiddies - because the night isn't over yet... it's going to take a couple more chapters to see The Prank through to the end.   
> And I promise, things will never be the same after this.


	8. 6 November 1976 (The Prank)

_They are probably all in on some plan to hex me into next week._

_This is probably a trap. Utterly obvious one, at that. Stupid Gryffindors._

_Black and Potter are probably waiting at the end of this tunnel. And that other one, the shifty one. And Re-and Lupin. Agreed to be the bait. To play me for a fool._

_They are probably all in on this plot. A prank. Any minute now, they'll jump out._

 

_Any minute now…_

 

_Any minute now…_

 

But despite the words Severus was repeating endlessly to himself, he could not stop and go back to the school. Despite the logical, obvious course of action, his feet continued to stumble over the rocks and roots that marred the ground of the tunnel.

He had been mildly surprised when, true to Black's word, Lupin had actually disappeared down the passageway at the Whomping Willow. Severus had been watching the tree closely, half expecting Black to jump out and laugh at him for being so gullible. But the other boy had appeared, quiet and withdrawn; so preoccupied he did not notice that he was being watched. And then he disappeared through the tree.

Severus had never been so close to discovering, to revealing, the mysterious boy.

 _It is only fair,_ Severus grimaced, _Re--he knows so much about my private life…because of that loathsome potion incident… It is only appropriate that I finally am given a glimpse of something of his. Something equally… personal._

At least, that's what Severus told himself, as he found a stick long enough to reach the tree trunk. And then he pushed himself down into the dark tunnel before his pragmatic logic could catch up with him.

 

_Any minute now…_

 

_Any minute now…_

 

The tunnel was not that dark, once his eyes had adjusted. But it was amazingly long; Severus was surprised at the length. Obviously it was only discovered by the Gryffindor troublemakers, not of their own making. Severus mentally estimated that he was probably a great distance beyond the actual school grounds, heading roughly in the direction of Hogsmeade. Perhaps the tunnel led to the town. That would certainly explain how those self-righteous prats seemed to have an unending supply of dungbombs and Zonko's products. They probably snuck out once a month to purchase new supplies. Severus was probably being used as extra fun for their regularly planned monthly excursion.

Gritting his teeth and renewing his grasp on his wand, Severus continued moving ahead. There was something in front of him, a muffled noise that was growing louder.

 _Idiots._ Severus felt a momentary surge of anger, _Can't even properly execute a silent ambush_.

 

_Any minute now…_

 

And he turned around a corner, and heard the anguished cry more clearly. Nearly dropping his wand, Severus' mind was whirling, confused. It sounded like… Remus. Being tortured! Loud crashing sounds, a growling snarl, a twisted whimper. Somewhere up ahead, at the end of the tunnel…

 _What the bloody fuck?_ Severus' eyes were wide, trying to see more clearly. _What in the world is Black doing to him!_ He snarled furiously, suddenly plunging headlong down the last few twists of the tunnel.

Suddenly, behind him, there came the echo of pounding footsteps - somebody rushing toward him not even trying to keep quiet. The tunnel was growing brighter, light leaking in from the exit point, just around another bend.

 

_Any minute now…_

 

" _Remus- -_ "…The name was caught strangled in his throat as James Potter's hands suddenly reached out and grabbed his shoulder roughly.

"Snape!" The voice was urgent, and pinched frantically. "Don't - We've got to... it's not…"

Severus tried to spin to face the panting, tugging boy, at the same time that he tried to continue to move forward. Toward whatever was happening to Remus. The cries and whimpers had stopped. Now there was only a growling, a low threatening rumble.

"COME ON - YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND." Potter was yelling in his ear. His hands suddenly clenched so tightly, an oddly detached voice in Severus' mind told him that he'd be terribly bruised in the morning.

Time seemed to be wildly contracting, and then spinning apart. One moment he was breathlessly struggling against Potter. Their hands and arms a tangled blur; Potter's insistent voice moving so fast the words blurred together incoherently. His heart was beating wildly, at a frantic pace…

And then it was like being slammed into an invisible wall: everything stopped. Severus felt like he was floating, calmly watching _horrified_ as his body wrenched free from Potter's grasp. He nearly… tripped across a tangle of roots… but caught himself… and… spun. Severus inhaled; Potter's eyes were wide… like a deer caught in a hunter's sights… he raised his wand… pointing at Severus' back.

Frantically gasping for more air, Severus did not care. He was moving… forward… one last turn. The growling was more thunderous than the pounding of the blood in his ears.

His eyes widened, latching instantly on the amber-yellow eyes. The muted light of the full moon filtered down somehow to them. Silvery, like the flash of bared teeth. The growl. A howl.

Severus felt the cold, dead weight of the wand clutched desperately in his hand. His arm hanging limply at his side. His mouth was slack… all the time in the world existed in the twitching of the beast's muscles… a smooth ripple as they flexed… gathered… tightened hungrily… released into powerful motion…

Severus knew he should move, should raise his wand. Should scream. But all he saw was amber-yellow eyes. Flying closer, closer as the _werewolf_ sprang toward him… for the kill.

 

Then there was a noise; a voice screaming unexpected words: "REMUS NO!"

 

And the strong hands were back - had it only been a second, a single breath in and out - since those hands had lost purchase on his arm? Severus could not believe it hadn't been years, _years_ , since he had been pushing away from Potter, just one turn back in the passageway. It felt like his whole life was beating wildly inside of his body; one year for each shuddering beat of his heart, perhaps.

There was a sharp, shooting pain as the hands pushed him to the side; his shoulder and back colliding heavily on the jagged edges of rocks and jutting roots.

Somewhere above Severus, the voice was screaming again: " _COLLOPORTUS!_ "

There was an odd squelching noise, and a very loud _thud_ , and an enraged, snarling howl. Someone had abruptly shut off the moonlight. The hands returned. The voice was shaking, _"Lumos._ "

Potter's head appeared above him, eyes shining brilliantly with fear, his face damp with cold sweat. His hands roughly grabbed Severus by the arm. Without a word, Severus was suddenly stumbling behind Potter. His body was jerking, trying to shudder or trying to laugh. In any other situation, Severus would push Potter off; would gather his robes about him, and explain coldly that _Slytherins NEVER run for their lives._

But tonight… maybe this one time, perhaps they do.

The noises of the beast behind them faded away, leaving only the thudding sound of their stumbling and the heavy sound of their breathing. The exit was before them, a shaft of silver moonlight, oddly flickering. Severus, moving without thought, tried to tumble toward the light. Anything… anything to get away from… Re-- the monster that was probably chasing at their heels by now. But Potter grabbed him again, holding him away from the exit with one arm. He turned back, and held his wand steadily against the darkness of the tunnel. His whole body was shaking.

"Wait." He gasped. Severus, unable to think, obeyed the command.

Potter dug into his pocket and pulled out a mirror. Keeping his eyes on the tunnel, his body pinned Severus against a wall, away from the tunnel, but also away from the only escape.

"Sirius Black." James clenched through his teeth. There was a prolonged pause. Severus felt as though he might never be able to blink again. Or sleep, either. And then-- "Stop the damn tree, you bloody bastard, we're getting out of here. I'll meet you later… Yes…"

Then, Potter's jaw tightened, "… We will talk about _this_ later…"

Abruptly he dropped the mirror back into his robes. And the moonlight stopped flickering. James' eyes flicked over the steady stream of silvery light, back to the dark mouth of the tunnel, and then over to Severus.

"Right then. Let's go," he said, his voice beginning to loosen.

Severus scrambled out of the hellish trap and fell onto the grass beneath the Whomping Willow. His body shook violently. Gasping for air, Severus felt a sudden panic; he was choking- drowning- and he opened his mouth, retching miserably onto the ground. His nails dug into the grass. The world was careening recklessly around him, and his throat closed up again.

 _Oh good gods_ , he thought helplessly, as his stomach twisted violently. Losing his balance, Severus pitched forward, his arms unable to support his pitching weight. Dirt and grass and the smell of bile filled his mind. Everything was a hazy blur; random sparks of painful light shooting like needles though his eyes. The edges of the world were growing grey.

Potter was tugging at his body once more. Severus spat in disgust. Or maybe he just spat because his stomach was twisting again. Like a straw man, Severus was dragged along behind Potter, limbs askew at odd, jutting angles. Blearily, Severus saw the tree give a deep shudder, and begin swinging ferociously at them. But it was too late; they were already beyond its reach.

 _Damn that bastard Potter._ It was all Severus could think, so he grabbed onto the thought and clung to it for dear life. _Damn that bastard Black. And damn Potter. And… … … damn that bastard Potter._

Severus watched as the vicious tree swirled into a graying blur of movement. He rolled to his side and threw up once more onto the grass, even though there wasn't anything left inside him. It was a terrible, dry gasping sound. Severus' body shivered violently, his skin damp and crawling with revulsion; he vaguely wondered if there would ever be any way to expel the _defiled_ feeling the way his stomach had expelled its contents.

Then the grey, blurry world narrowed to a pinprick of white light and Severus lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> This is actually the 2nd chapter that I had completely written out for this fic. I did the first chapter (Remus, and meeting up with Sirius again) but then I got Sev stuck in the brain, and what in the world would be going through his head as he walked through the tunnel toward the Shack. The rest of the incident grew up around this chapter, and my knowledge of what eventually happens because of this moment right now.... Sometimes I really want to smack my Sev. He is so close to being a good guy, but then he goes and does stupid things because, deep down, he's just a frightened boy. I like him too much for my own good.
> 
> _\- Interesting how Snape recognizes & identifies Wormtail as "shifty" - points out a nice big blind spot in the collective Marauder eyes._
> 
> Why, yes, it does - doesn't it? Don't forget that Snape was always very, _very_ intelligent.


	9. 6 November 1976 (The Werewolf)

_You love him_. The voice was cruel, taunting. Incessant.

The world was a black, velvety stage. Players dressed in vibrant colors pantomimed an intricate dance, joining together and then pulling apart again and again.

_Any minute now…_

The players whispered, pulling back to reveal two boys pale and charming - shaking hands with absurd solemnity.

 _He is not your anything._ A thunderous reminder.

The players twisted around, lashing out at each other. Despite the growing crowd on the infinite stage, each and every one of them seemed all the more alone and isolated for their massive numbers.

 _...go back to being friends?…_ Heavy sadness colored the stage, a magical trick of blue lighting and a simple spell: suddenly a rainstorm. And a rolling purple haze.

There was a young man on stage. Dressed as Apollo, the Greek god of music and light. His skin was perfectly pale, smooth like alabaster; his hair and eyes golden like warmed honey, his smile radiant.

One hand reached, beckoning toward Severus, heedless of the growing number of Dark Men looming around the edges of the surreal scene. Dark Men like the snarling brute dangling from his fingers a woman dressed like a tattered doll. Or the one richly painted in Silver filigree, etched like a pale serpent with emerald eyes and a haughty expression.

_Any minute now…_

The Dark Men lurked closer, closer to the golden figure in the center. They had power; frightening power. Severus wildly felt the urge to warn the Apollo, to stumble to his side and fight the others back.

 _Sev…_ A quiet gasp.

Then a deep, hungry snarl.

Horrified, Severus felt as if his body had been torn viciously in two. He had been so distracted by the Dark Men… hadn't seen the moment when the Apollo had twisted and shuddered and … become something _else_. All he could feel were the lines of sharp shooting pain that clawed him apart. He broke, watching the stage fill with faces, mocking. There was red blood, and shifting silver light, and terrible, terrible golden eyes everywhere.

The carefree players were gone. Only the Dark Men remained, watching mirthlessly as Severus bled onto the inky stage. The Beast licked its jaws, and eyed him callously as it viciously pounced on a small green and ebony garden snake.

The Beast took the snake's angular head in one swift tear, teeth gnashing sharply as claws shredded the rest of the prone body and tail.

 _You love him_. The voice was cruel, taunting.

Severus screamed. And screamed. And screamed.  
The players and the Men and the stage fell away, drowned by the sound. All that remained was the Beast, with his honey eyes.

And Severus, with his wild scream.  
  


* * *

 

  
He woke up in the Hospital Wing, screaming and choking on his bloodied throat.

Pomfrey bustled in, and took advantage of Severus' open mouth to drop a spoonful of some potion down his throat without hesitation. Her eyes were worried, but her face was tightly closed off.

"That will relax you, Mr. Snape, without inducing sleep. I need to talk to you once you are able." She was firm, abrupt, and yet hovering ridiculously close. Like a peckish hen, Severus thought with a grimace of annoyance.

Then he caught sight of the beds over her shoulder, and jerked away so quickly he nearly tumbled off of his own bed.

The farthest bed, closest to the windows, was curtained off. James Potter was sitting on the bed next to it, arms wrapped around his legs, chin resting on his knees. His face was an open expression of worry and fatigue; he was staring unblinkingly at Severus.

 

And beyond the curtain, sitting on the farthest bed, Severus knew without a doubt, was _the werewolf_.

 

"Now, Mr. Snape, you've had quite a scare." Madam Pomfrey suddenly began fussing, trying to settle Severus firmly back into his bed. "Quite a night, indeed. But I'm certain, that _if we can all just relax_ , no one will be punished for wandering around after curfew, or have any points taken, or anything at all…"

Slowly realization was beginning to dawn in the back of Severus' mind. Pomfrey sounded… desperate. Madam Pomfrey knew. She _had_ to know; there was no possible way that she _didn't_ know. And if Pomfrey knew… then Dumbledore must know as well. Severus swallowed tightly, and narrowed his eyes at Potter. He allowed Pomfrey to paw him back into his bed. And even accepted another spoonful of her tawdry attempts at medicinal potions. If Dumbledore knew… they would want to … cover this up. Keep the whole incident quiet. Which meant that _damnable Black and bloody Potter were going to get away with their blatant rule-breaking and scheming once again._

Something cold and very hard settled firmly in Severus' stomach as he watched Potter sitting across the room. They had known all along that it would be this way; whatever the outcome of the night had been - either way, they had known Dumbledore would hush it up. Even if Severus _had_ been killed.

If Severus didn't agree to keep quiet, then Pomfrey - or even Dumbledore himself - would probably _Obliviate_ Severus. And that would accomplish only one thing, as far as Severus could see: steal from Severus the memory of what Black and his murderous gang of Gryffindors had tried to do. If Severus allowed that to happen, then he would not be able to strike back, he would not remember that he had anything to seek vengeance for.

But… if Severus _played along_ … if Severus made it clear that he would go along with their disgusting ruse and hold his tongue. Then he would keep his memory intact. And then he could plan the best way to take his revenge.

And he would also be safe from… that _half-breed monster_. If Severus didn't remember what that creature was… he might unknowingly stumble onto its lair, or be trapped by Black and Potter again, with dire consequences. It would be much, much wiser to retain his full memory intact.

Maybe not his _full_ memory… Severus glared icily past Potter, and fell into pensive thought.

 

A moment of weakness had led to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> I have a confession to make... Did anybody else watch that animated series _Gargoyles_?   
>  Well, I was a huge fan of the show. This particular bit, and the way Severus is thinking about all of this, reminds me very much of one particular episode. It's the Halloween episode with Fox and the Eye of Odin - and how it turns her into a werewolf. And everyone goes running about freaking out and all, until Goliath actually helps Xanatos get the Eye away from Fox. Xanatos scoops up Fox's limp body, and says to Goliath, "so now you know my weakness."   
> To which Goliath replies, "Only _you_ could regard _love_ as a weakness."


	10. 6 November 1976 (The Slytherin)

Dumbledore entered the Hospital Wing quietly, without his usual effervescent energy. His blue piercing gaze swept across the beds, measuring the heavy silence as if the empty air were whispering the boys' secrets in to the Headmaster's ear.

Severus stiffened slightly, knowing the Headmaster... perhaps the air _was_ betraying his thoughts at that very moment. To occupy himself, Severus stared at the hint of sunlight beyond the windows at the end of the ward and tried to guess what time it was. It was just barely dawn. The world beyond the pane of glass had the heavy look of darkness that precedes dawns on cold wintry days in November. Analytically, Severus tried to calculate how many hours ago the moon had set, since it was winter and the crazy tilt of the earth meant that both the sun and the moon rose and set quickly thereafter. Leaving long periods of half-lit emptiness in between.

Despite himself, Severus shivered.

Half of him wanted to scream and rage. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, that Potter and Black and the rest of those damn Gryffindors - Headmaster included - could have such a dangerous secret. It was unthinkable that Potter and Black would be getting away with this. And last, but not least in any way, it was that contemptible _Black_ who had _used_ Re - ...

Remus. _Amber-Yellow-Moonlight-Eyes._ Remus Lupin. _Low growling-teeth-fur-Howl-elegant, pale fingers tentative._ Remy of the Purple Potion Incident... both of them. _Awkward handshake, shy smile, bookish, snarling, slavering, jaws reaching madness in eyes_. Remus. Remus Lupin, werewolf, used as Black's bludger to beat at Snape, no better than Mugglish fists.

The other half of Severus Snape was utterly cold and still. Empty. A small, snide voice seemed to say that this is the half where Snape used to keep his emotions. The ones that would be telling him right now that he ought to push Potter out of the way, fling himself across the beds, and see _him_ with his own eyes. To see, to touch, to assure himself of the humanity, recently reformed after the setting of the full moon. This was the half of Snape that ought to be asking questions like, _when were you bitten? How do you live like this? Why did you tell_ them _, for Merlin's sake! Why_ didn't _you tell_ me _? Are you okay? I'm alright, I'll survive, but are you okay?_

That sort of tripe, however, had absolutely no place in Severus Snape's world or inner psyche. There was instead only the cold, empty hollowness. The contempt that he would use to plug the chink in that wall between himself and ... _the werewolf_... Only the cold sneer and the icy veneer would exist now, a relatively small price to pay for such an expensive moment of weakness. Severus Snape had known, after all, that his emotional repertoire was restricting itself; he had knowingly encouraged it.

Now all that was left was to turn, fashion the angry half into red-hot resolve, and face the Headmaster. And keep his memory intact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~ 
> 
> My beta begs me to make it very clear how to pronounce "Remy" (Sev's nickname for Remus). The nickname was created the night of the 1st Purple Potion Incident, in case you didn't read _Punch Lines_ (for shame! Go read it now!).   
>  My beta says, "It should be *very* clear that he's Remy (the French name) and not Reemie (the godawful fangirl name)."   
> To which I agree heartily. If you are an X-Men fan, then it's the same way that Gambit pronounces his first name. Otherwise, it's rem (like REM-sleep) and "e" (said just like the letter "e").


	11. 6 November 1976 (The Memories)

Dumbledore entered the Hospital Wing quietly, without his usual effervescent energy. James Potter did not move from his perch on the bed next to the curtains. He could hear Moony breathing softly, small shuddering gasps as his body released the ache that came from the shifting and reshaping of bones and muscles. Padfoot had not argued when James had told him in a terse voice to go to the dormitory with Wormtail and stay put. Pads had looked... shocked. James did not know how or when Pads had told Snape to do what he did; James did not particularly want to know at this point in time.

It was enough to know that Wormtail had seen Snape slinking out of the Entrance Hall, and had told James. It was enough to know that no one was hurt. That no one was _dead_. 

James knew that he would have to speak for the Marauders. That he would have to tell Dumbledore what had happened. That he would have to take responsibility. It was an odd, heavy feeling, as if someone had transfigured his internal organs to rocks and then cast a freezing charm. The certainty, however, was surprising. James had never felt quite like this before. It reminded him vaguely of the cool level-headedness that exuded from Lily Evans, and the professors, and his own parents. It was the sheer _adult_ -ness of it all. The weight about his neck and shoulders; the shuddery way James thought he might cry, but knew that the tears would not be for himself; the way that everything had shifted the moment his hands had grabbed Snape down in the tunnel.

Everything had shifted. Hogwarts might be bright and shining and magical once the sun rose and the day began just like any other day before now, but James felt something pulling at him, like a portkey. The threat of that dark wizard, that Voldemort bloke, and the horrible things he'd overheard during the summer seemed more real. The gravity of Padfoot's unthinkable actions, the preciousness of their lives, Moony's and Padfoot's and his own - and, yes, even Snape's - it all splayed out before James' eyes like someone had spilled open a bag of tiny diamonds and they lay, strewn across the floor.

James suddenly thought of all the things he'd rather be doing at the moment. Terribly mundane things like sleeping in the dorm, or studying for his NEWTS, or brushing his teeth. Horribly wonderful things, like watching Lily as she worked through her homework for Charms, like sharing a joke and a smuggled butterbeer with Sirius. Wonderfully purposeful things like working harder to get into the Auror training program, like paying more attention to what was happening to the Wizarding World around him, like becoming more involved in half-human and werewolf civil rights.

James Potter did not move from his perch on the bed next to the curtains when Dumbledore drew a chair and sat down near the end of the bed.

"Mr. Potter," the voice broke the tense silence of the Hospital Wing. "I will need to hear from you just what occurred this evening. Only tell me what you, yourself, know with certainty."

James dropped his arms from around his knees and sat up a bit straighter. He rested his hands in his lap and tired to meet the Headmaster's eyes without flinching.

"Peter came and told me that Sn-- Snape was heading toward the Whomping Willow. I knew... what _could_ happen, so I didn't really stop to think. I ran after him. He had already gone into the tunnel when I arrived, but I wasn't that far behind him."

"And how did you know that?" Dumbledore asked, in a tone of voice that said he already knew.

"The tree was still immobile. I-- I ran down after him. He was almost... _there_... when I caught up with him. We --" James stopped speaking and seemed to choke a bit. He shuddered, and his eyes unfocused briefly. James was used to seeing Moony; but James had only ever seen Moony through the eyes of Prongs. The difference was... not one that James would ever forget.

Dumbledore gazed at James Potter knowingly, and remained thoughtfully silent until, after a minute, James continued speaking.

"I grabbed Snape and threw the strongest _Colloportus_ that I could at... the door. We ran back out past the Willow. Snape lost consciousness, and I brought him here. We've both been here ever since."

Dumbledore gazed at James Potter knowingly. "And your compatriots? Mr. Pettigrew and Mr. Black?" He asked.

"I can't say that with certainty, sir." James said softly. "I don't know what Peter did after telling me about Snape. I know that both Sirius and Peter are in the Gryffindor dorm right now. That's all I can say."

Dumbledore nodded briefly. "Thank you Mr. Potter. You have saved one, if not two, lives tonight - for surely if harm had befallen Mr. Snape, I would not have been able to keep the Werewolf Capture Unit from ... _reprimanding_ Mr. Lupin."

 

There was a heavy silence that hung briefly in the air.

 

"Now, Mr. Potter. You should return to your dormitory. You will, of course, speak of this only once and only briefly, to explain to Mr. Black the seriousness of his actions. Then you will _never_ speak of what occurred this night to anyone ever again. I will handle things with Mr. Lupin, and Mr. Black, and Mr. Snape from here."

James nodded only once, and seemed to crumple from the bed rather than stand. He moved like a wraith toward the door.  
  


* * *

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus Snape watched him go. When he heard Dumbledore whisper _twenty points to Gryffindor for the quick bravery to save even his rival's life in a time of crisis_ , Snape sneered inwardly. Twenty points. His life was only worth _twenty points_ in the eyes of the venerable all-knowing Headmaster.

"Come now, Mr. Snape," he heard Dumbledore's voice say softly, "your value cannot be measured in mere House points. There are simply not enough points to equal something of such worth."

Severus kept his face a blank mask, pretending that he had heard neither the conversation nor the Headmaster's last comments. A small rustling of robes was the only indication that Dumbledore had stood and moved to a new seat, at the end of Snape's bed.

"It is your turn, Mr. Snape," the annoyingly cheerful voice said firmly. "Is there anything you wish to tell me?"

Severus Snape pressed his lips tightly together and hesitated only a second before shaking his head slightly. Dumbledore merely raised an eyebrow. They sat that way, in silence, until finally something inside Severus snapped angrily outward.

"It was another one of _their_ childish pranks," he snapped bitterly, forcing his thoughts away from that day, in the boy's loo, with Black. "Clearly a plot devised by Black and Potter and Pettigrew and...." his voice hitched slightly, and he could not keep his eyes from darting toward the curtains. "When Pettigrew reported to Potter that their devious _plot_ was working as planned, Potter lost his nerve. It was cowardice that caused him to act, _cowardice_ , not that vaunted Gryffindor bravery."

Dumbledore gazed at Severus steadily, not speaking as he spat his acid words. When Severus pressed his lips tightly together again, Dumbledore closed his eyes as if thinking deeply. "Seventy-five points from Gryffindor for reckless and knowing endangerment of another student's life."

"Yes. Points. That will teach them." Severus snarled, quite forgetting that he was speaking to the Headmaster. "And perhaps we ought to slap the _werewolf's_ hands with a ruler?"

"Mr. Snape!" Dumbledore's sharp voice cut through the rant. "You will _not_ speak about Mr. Lupin in such a way in my presence again. He is as much a victim in this unfortunate event as you, yourself. As I told Mr. Potter, I will _personally_ handle the consequences facing Mr. Black; surely you must already have realized that whatever punishments I mete out to Mr. Black, they will not be nearly as grievous as the guilt and torment that he will most certainly inflict upon himself in the months to follow."

Severus Snape clenched his jaw and forced his eyes to focus anywhere except the Headmaster - and the curtained bed at the end of the Hospital Wing.

"While it might come as a surprise, Mr. Snape," the voice was softer, closer, "I care deeply about _all_ the students living at Hogwarts, and that includes not only the Gryffindors but the Slytherins as well. Yes, Mr. Snape, that absolutely includes _you_ , too." Dumbledore paused, heavily, for a long moment.

 _Ah, here it comes._ Severus thought grimly. _This is where he shows his true colors. And they'll be red and gold, without a doubt. A murderous werewolf walking among the students... much more important than respecting the integrity of my mind, my memories._

"I would not wish anyone to bear the... stress... of such an experience as you have, no doubt, had this night." Dumbledore began. The sharp lance of joy at being so absolutely right about the Headmaster's plans was almost painful. Severus held himself stiffly, lest he shiver at the icy sting.

"And I also have Mr. Lupin's ... security... to consider. You must excuse me when I admit that I am actually amazed that this did not occur sooner. I have been carrying quite a load of worry and stress for five and a half years, wondering _if_ , and _when_."

 _Five and a half years. Five and a half years!_ Severus bit his tongue so sharply that he tasted the sudden metallic tang of blood. _He had not been bitten over the summer. He had been a werewolf before he even came to Hogwarts. He had been a monster every single second of every minute of every day that Severus Snape had ever known him. He was a man-eating killer when he shook hands and smiled at the train station. It was a lie! All of it. Lies! He had been a cruel-fanged Dark Creature when he --_ and Severus abruptly cut himself away from that reckless train of thought before he relived every single minute of every single moment of every single day that he had known Remus Lupin. There were too many moments.

Too many lies.

And suddenly Severus knew exactly what he wanted to do.

 

"Please, sir," he whispered thinly, forcing himself to say the words. "Please, Headmaster. I don't think I can... feel... _safe_ knowing... knowing what I know now." Severus watched out of the corner of his eye as his words had exactly the correct effect on Dumbledore. Sadness crossed the man's face, the faint hopeful twinkle in his eye fading all too clearly. _Had the smarmy old fool actually_ hoped _that I would not act otherwise? Had he hoped that I would_ rise above _this and embrace --- the beast?_ Severus modulated his voice, and rushed on in his little speech, as if he were pleading the Headmaster not to think less of Severus for his "weakness."

"Even if I tried, sir - and I _could_ try - I would be a risk. Isn't that correct? A breach in the secrecy?" _The dangerous secret that nearly killed me, and is more important to you than me._ "I... I just don't know if ... if I can know this and keep it from changing how I act. I would most certainly end up... letting something slip, sometime or other. Even if it was merely an accident. And if my _housemates_ found out..." Severus let the unfinished sentence hang, knowing with grim satisfaction _exactly_ how Dumbledore would react to the mention of Slytherin House.

The sadness intensified, followed by a shadow of something creeping across the Headmaster's drawn features. It was a shocking contrast to his usually merry countenance.

There was a brief flash of emotion - _disappointment? regret?_ \- and for a fraction of a second, Severus had the terrible thought that perhaps the sadness and the pain in the older man's eyes were not for the sleeping --- monster, but for Severus Snape himself. Severus quickly shook off that ridiculous thought, and steeled his resolve. _Act as a fool, Dumbledore,_ he thought bitterly, _and you will be played as one._

"So, will you allow me to _Obliviate_ the memories of this evening?" Dumbledore said heavily, almost cautiously.

Severus shook his head, inwardly holding his breath: the crucial moment. "I have been trained in Occlumency, sir. An _Obliviate_ will have little effect, or cause damage because I... I _want_ to rid of these memories," _a truth: he_ did _want to be rid of certain memories_. _A lie: he did not specify if they were speaking of the same set of memories._ "But I am not certain I can willingly sit while they are...taken."

Dumbledore sat very still for many minutes. His sharp gaze hung heavily on Severus Snape, as if slowly deliberating some unfathomable judgment. His eyes were measuring, certain, and deep with sadness. Severus blinked away from those eyes, shifting to stare at his hands. He hoped that he affected the tragic character well enough to lead the Headmaster willingly into his plans.

"You will remove your own memories, then?" The question was more a statement, and Severus knew he had won.

"Sir?" he questioned.

From within a hidden pocket of his robes, Dumbledore withdrew a small crystal bottle and stopper.

"You are, of course, familiar with a pensieve and other methods of bottling memories." Dumbledore said quietly. "Should you merely bottle a copy of these memories, you would still retain the original memory. There is, however, an acceptable compromise; there is a simple spell that will remove not just a copy of the memory, but the actual memory itself. You will place your memory into this bottle using that spell, and place your seal upon the stopper. Then I will add my own sealing charms and keep the memory safe for you." His voice was quiet, but his instructions were clear and left no room for argument or discussion.

 _Perfect_. Severus Snape thought in grim satisfaction. The shadow passed across Dumbledore's face once again, but this time Severus did not question its reason, or even really notice its passage.

"… I … I will require more than one vial, sir." Severus said with a carefully modulated tone.

Dumbledore's eyebrow rose a fraction. "Oh?"

"Yes, sir." Severus replied. This was where his plan either took flight, or turned pear shaped. "I've… I've been suspicious, sir. For quite some time." Severus hung his head, and carefully Occluded his mind. "It had not escaped my notice that _he_ was often mysteriously missing… or sickly. I have been studying _them_ for six years, after all."

"Quite diligent of you." Dumbledore's voice was a whisper that did not betray any emotion.

Not trusting himself to speak and ruin the plan, Severus nodded mutely. For several long minutes neither spoke or moved.

 

Albus Dumbledore stood then, and disappeared briefly into Madam Pomfrey's office. Severus did not dare to breathe the entire time the headmaster was gone. He returned carrying a simple black case with a brass Muggle lock. Dumbledore sat down again; Severus watched out of the corner of his eye as Dumbledore turned the case toward the hunched student, and raised the lid. Inside, nestled among a lining of velvet so dark green it was nearly black, was an entire set of empty bottles.

"The spell, Mr. Snape, is _Excido memoria_."

 

Thus made ready, Severus thoughtfully contemplated: the first shy smile in the train station, the way their eyes met and the queer handshake.   
A touch of the wand to his temple; " _Excido memoria._ " And a silvery string lowered into a bottle.

Study sessions in the library.   
A touch of the wand to his temple; " _Excido memoria._ " And a silvery string lowered into a bottle.

Watching between the eggs and the toast, across the Great Hall. Watching each other watching the other.   
A touch of the wand to his temple; " _Excido memoria._ " And a silvery string lowered into a bottle.

The Purple Potion Incident. Both of them. In their entirety. Everything ever said about that damnable project.

The image of a date that would never be, to see the trompe-l'oeilists.

Amber eyes. Honey hair.

A touch of the wand to his temple; " _Excido memoria._ " And a silvery string lowered into a bottle.

And on, and on. Every memory that would ever traitorously remind Severus that he once had feelings. Once _cared..._

 

The Headmaster regarded Severus Snape with a grave expression, his troubling gaze full of sorrow and understanding.

"It is finished." Severus said, muttering a complex sealing charm over the stoppered bottles. He watched Dumbledore carefully turn the case around. Severus narrowed his eyes and wrestled with an unsettling feeling briefly. He knew perfectly well what bottled memories were. He knew that he had just bottled many of his own memories; for the life of him, he could not recall what was so dangerous he had to be rid of it.

Then Severus took a deep breath and reasserted cool logic. He systematically catalogued what he _could_ remember. He could remember the prank. The way _Black_ had tried to kill him; the dangerous half-breed _monster_ that pretended to be Remus Lupin during the day.

Severus could remember that the case full of crystal vials was the first step in enacting his revenge, a tool to trick Dumbledore into believing that Severus was not a threat to his hideous _pet_. Severus paused a moment to scowl inwardly: _Remus Lupin always did take the phrase 'teacher's pet' to near-literal levels._

Severus could also remember that he had been expected to use the vials and the memory spell to remove his memories of the snarling, howling, slobbering brute - of the night's activities, of Black's insane trickery, of Potter's cowardice. The fury and pain that Severus sensed woven into the memories of the night blazed so intensely that Severus wondered if his skin was growing flush with the heat. It was oddly disturbing, and seemed surprisingly passionate - perhaps not disproportionate to the gravity of the events - but certainly more intensely _emotional_ than Severus could justify to himself.

He shivered slightly at the idea that whatever was locked away in the sealed crystal could be considered _worse_ than a near-death experience at the sharp teeth of a fully grown werewolf. Resuming mental control, however, Severus reminded himself of his cunning plan.

Then he reminded himself that, as he had no immediately discernible injuries, it was entirely possible that the black case merely contained some frivolous memory of childhood events - a birthday party or a favorite potion perhaps - any mundane memory that was used to fool the Old Fool.

During his silent introspection, Severus saw that Dumbledore had cast his own sealing charms on the vials. Then the headmaster cast a string of complex locking charms on the black case. From somewhere within his voluminous robes, Dumbledore withdrew a plain looking brass Muggle key, and locked the case once more. Then the key, and the case, disappeared into his robes as Dumbledore murmured, _I'll just look after this, then._

"Perhaps, if you feel up to it," the Headmaster murmured, "you will return to Slytherin House now?" It wasn't a request. "And you will notify your Head if, for some reason, you feel unable to return to class on Monday morning."

"Yes, sir." Severus demurred.

"Good. I'd hope to put as much of this behind us as possible, Mr. Snape. And return to life as normal." For some reason, there was anything but hope in Dumbledore's voice. He gazed once, sharply, at Severus before pushing his eyes wearily toward the doors.

"Yes, sir." Severus agreed, nastily fuming inside his head. He resisted the urge to sneer furiously in the direction of the curtained _freak_. It simply wouldn't do to slip up in front of Dumbledore just as the plan was about to go off without a hitch. And then, once the Headmaster allowed him to walk away, Severus Snape could move on to the next phase of his vengeance. He might owe a life debt to Potter now, but Black could be made to pay enough for all of them.

As for Lupin... Severus paused to shake off the disturbing, slimy feeling that burned across his skin at that. As for Lupin - Severus would wait and watch for just the right time and right way to utterly destroy that repulsive _impure_ mockery of human flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> _\- "...the preciousness of their lives, Moony's and Padfoot's and his own - and, yes, even Snape's..." ... I like this. A lot. It's clear James isn't thinking *at all* about Wormtail - ooh, nice. And what a colossal prick._
> 
> Why, yes. Exactly. James certainly has his moments. This is not one of his better ones.
> 
> _\- I think it's interesting that Snape's view of Gryffindor "true colors" is so much like the Gryffindors' view of Slytherin "true colors" from CoS.  
>  Crazy monster who nearly (or really) killed someone? What kind of stupid idiot from *insert House here* let that in? _
> 
> Oh yes, you are exactly right. Funny how the house system can work out so well... or so abysmally.
> 
> _\- "His life was only worth twenty points in the eyes of the venerable all-knowing Headmaster." Oh, don't worry, Severus, Hermione's life is only worth ten…_
> 
> You people crack me up. Seriously. *LOL*
> 
> _\- Dumbledore knows *exactly* what Snape is doing, doesn't he?_
> 
> I quote my beta: "Never underestimate the silly old man." She says it nicer that I would have. I would have called him a barmy old manipulative codger.
> 
>  _\- Excido memoria._  
>  Excido has two Latin forms, both of which work in this circumstance (1) [to fall out , fall away, be lost]; of words, [to slip out unawares, escape]; of ideas, [to pass from memory or thought, be forgotten] and (2) [to cut out]; Transf., [to destroy, demolish]; [to root out, banish]. Memoria means not only a memory itself, but also the _capacity_ for remembering. 
> 
> My beta and I went back and forth on this for quite some time. At first I had invented a whole new magical object to deal entirely with the removal of unwanted memories. It was like a pensieve, only also like a safe-box. My beta didn't like this too much, and dug in her heels. Said there was plenty in canon to work with, I shouldn't bother inventing something just to serve my own purposes. The night HBP came out, we were on the phone with each other almost instantly - and I swear one of the first things she said to me was "memories! In crystal vials!"... Never let it be said that canon is good for nothing.


	12. 29 November 1976

****Severus Snape narrowed his eyes and mentally prodded his emotions as if they were a strange Potions brew that needed inspection. There was something odd, something cold and flat about them; it was unsettling at best.

On the outside, Severus kept his face a calm, imposing mask. He sneered easily at a petulant first-year, and sat down to breakfast at the Slytherin table. The past few weeks had been tense for Severus; after _the incident_ , he had flung himself busily into his studies needing to throw Dumbledore's ever-watchful gaze off his back. But trying to allow time to go by to satisfy the old fool that the proper deed had been done had also given Severus ample time to realize a startling pattern about his thoughts.

There was a general hatred toward the insipid Gryffindors that hardly surprised Severus. After all, they were a miserably incompetent lot who obviously got away with far too much positively _criminal_ behavior. But there was also a growing sense of not-rightness that seemed to cloak a few key individuals.

One was that utter twat, Lily Evans. The Muggle-born. The Mudblood. Severus felt the word rise easily to his mind as he glared spitefully across the Great Hall at the red-headed Prefect. He hated the sight of Evans and Potter - so obviously in love now that they had begun hanging about each other. Severus hated the way that Evans surpassed his efforts in Charms without even trying. Severus also hated the way that Evans had been invited to join the Slug Club merely because of a few clever spells and one or two decent potions; it was nothing that Severus himself wasn't capable of and yet the Head of Slytherin had overlooked him yet again. Severus narrowed his eyes and sent a contemptuous glare at the girl. 

"Oi, Snape," a voice called to his right. Severus shifted his cold eyes to his housemate. Nott, a seventh year, blinked sleepily at him. "Pass the ham, will you?"

Severus moved automatically, his hands reaching for the plate to his left and his eyes trailing hatefully back to the Gryffindors.

"A fine mood _you're_ in this morning." Nott commented coolly. "The Mudblood done something to get you in a twist?"

"Filthy bitch." Severus answered with a sneer. The not-right feeling was there again, as if the room had suddenly lost its texture and depth. He focused his thoughts on Evans, and felt it keenly: as if the entire world were an absurd caricature, a shallow façade. "Filthy Mudblood," Severus spat out. "Makes me sick."

Nott took a piece of ham from the plate and gave Severus a surprised look, followed by a calculating gaze. Severus merely scowled again, and returned to his small breakfast of plain toast.

The other student that triggered the same feeling was the half-breed. The werewolf. Severus would have said the same thing about _it_ , but he wouldn't waste his efforts at concealing the truth. He wanted his revenge, and would bide his time until then. But it was there, nonetheless: the same twisting, seething anger and bitter resentment that Severus felt for all of Potter's imbecilic gang, but when it came to the _creature_ , Severus also felt the same not-rightness, the same cold, flat sense that something about it was just plain wrong.

It didn't take a Potions Master to figure out the sum of the mixture. Obviously Severus was experiencing new clarity in his perception; obviously Mudbloods and Half-breeds were dangerous impurities, things that tainted the wizarding world by their presence, the same way a rotted ingredient ruined a potion.

They needed to be calmly, and precisely, excised. The lot of them.  
  


* * *

  
Beside Severus, Nott's lips pressed together and he thought with practiced ease about the possibilities a Potions Master might provide in service to… the greater good. Severus Snape had been written off before as a weak, ineffectual nobody by those who considered themselves Nott's superiors; but perhaps there was potential there. Perhaps Snape would come into his own, solidifying his allegiance to… a certain point of view… and his obvious talents in Potions could be of great use to… _Him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> You almost want to quote PoA the movie -- "Brilliant, Snape. Once again you've put your keen and penetrating mind to the task and, as usual, come to the wrong conclusion."
> 
> Oh, and, watch out for Nott. Isn't he rather like Hitler's PR man?


	13. 16 December 1976

It was just shortly before the term let out for the Christmas holidays that Severus Snape executed his revenge on Sirius Black. He had spent a few weeks gathering materials together, and then a few days strategizing precisely what words to use, and how. In the end, Severus had opted for a few succinct phrases, and a couple choice photographs. After all, a picture is worth a thousand words.

And these pictures were priceless.

Severus Snape had watched silently as the owl flew the package away from Hogwarts, mere nights before the final day of the winter term. Then he made certain to have a clear view of Black and his paltry gang of miscreants every morning at breakfast when the owls delivered mail. The only pang of remorse that Severus Snape felt was that the Black family was too old, too pure, and too powerful to use something as plebeian as a Howler.

 

So Severus Snape watched for the owl post, and watched Sirius Black.

 

"Oh Merlin." Sirius Black gasped. The blood left his face, and he pressed his lips together. His hands shook, and the parchment slipped from his grasp to land softly on top of his buttered toast. James and Remus leaned closer, worry creasing their foreheads. James reached for the letter, but before he could snatch at the paper, a second owl landed and dropped another letter for Sirius.

Sirius did not move, did not even blink an eye.

Remus frowned, and grabbed the second letter, recognizing the meticulous cursive of Andromeda Black, now Tonks, Sirius' older cousin.

> _Sirius -_ it read,  
>  _Although I am not part of the family anymore, please remember that I will always be family to you. I do not know if you have heard from your parents yet, but I beg you to not do anything rash._
> 
> _They will be... speaking with you shortly, if they have not already. I promise you that it will not be the end of the world. I would beg of you to think logically about the situation, and to focus on your future - but you were right that day in the Hospital. Yes, I do remember. And you were right. You are a Gryffindor through and through._
> 
> _So all that I can do is implore you to draw upon your Gryffindor bravery. And rely on your friends for help. And write to me if you need my help._
> 
> _Perhaps when you have finished your schooling at Hogwarts, I can finally convince you to join Ted and I. It will be safer in America, with that madman (You Know Who I'm talking about) on the loose - I can only imagine what the future will bring to England. But you have me, so you are not trapped there._
> 
> _Nor are you defined by what your parents think about you._
> 
> _I guess we have a lot in common now: our families have both disowned us because of the people we have been given by fate to love with our very lives._
> 
> _I want to meet your boyfriend some time, okay?  
>  Take care,_
> 
> _'Meda._

 

"Oh. ... Merlin." Remus' eyes widened as he read and reread Andromeda's missive. With foreboding, his gaze drifted to the parchment currently reposing on Padfoot's toast. "Oh, Padfoot.... _Sirius_." He whispered, breaking through the awkwardness and silence lingering from _the incident_. He touched Sirius' hand gently for the first time in over a month.  
Sirius did not react at all.

"I think he's in shock." James said, concern clearly lacing his voice. "Moony... what's in the letter?"

Remus shook his head, and held Andromeda's letter to Prongs while reaching his other hand to the innocent-looking buttery parchment. It was short and to the point. An ultimatum sealed with the Black family crest: we have put up with your deviance long enough, you are no longer part of the family. Disowned. There were vile words dripping with scorn and derision. There were copies of pictures.

Someone had outed Sirius Black to his pureblooded, homophobic family.

Remus met James' eyes across the completely still body of Sirius Black, and then the silence was broken by a short, strangled laughter.

"They're always finding new ways to hurt me-" Sirius said with a strange, barking laugh. "But now..." he shrugged, choked, and began speaking again. "You'd think they'd realize by now that the best way to hurt me would be to cut me _off_ \- not cut me _out_."

Sirius's grey eyes were nearly black, his pupils were so far dilated. He was breathing in little pants, halfway between hopeless and hysterical.

"But still... they were my family - the only ones I had.... Now I've got nothing." Sirius choked again. Without conscious intent, Sirius' right hand grasped at his left forearm just above the upturned wrist, as if applying pressure to a severe cut. It was a gesture of habit that the Marauders had not seen since third year.

Remus moved on instinct, without caring who was watching or what it would mean. He reached out and tenderly wrapped his arms around Sirius. James was not as gentle; he reached out and smacked Sirius upside the head. Neither noticed that Peter had entered the Great Hall and walked up inquisitively beside them.

"Don't be daft, Pads." James said stoutly. "You're as good as my brother, mate; always have been since day one. You'll come move in with me; my parents certainly won't mind. And you've still got Moony! _We're_ your family."

Sirius was still staring blankly at his toast and the limp parchment letters, but his hands latched around Remus' arms, and gripped tightly.

"I swear," Sirius whispered, "I'll never treat my own family the way _they've_ treated me. I'll never do that to another person - not as long as I live and breathe. _Nobody_ deserves the sort of twisted, fucked up, garbage they dish out. I swear Prongs... Moony... I'd kill myself before I'd betray you like this. Look at us! We're supposed to be _kids_ , for Merlin's sake. Instead I've spent six years sorting out what's truth from what's lies. What really counts in friends and family from the Pureblooded, sanctimonious speeches they've got memorized. They hate me because I'm in love with a _boy_... it's just love - what are they so afraid of? ... I imagine they'd Apparate here directly and absolutely _murder_ me if they knew I was in love with a _Dark Creature_. You know what I say? I say they've got their ideas of Light and Dark switched, because the only _Dark Creatures_ around here are the Blacks, the Malfoys, the bloody Slytherins, and the Dark-fucking-Lord they're following!"

Both James and Remus leaned in then, to comfort their shaking friend. They worried and soothed and agreed and supported, because that was the best they could do to show how much they cared and supported their friend, their fellow Marauder, in his time of need. No one noticed that Peter stood just behind them, shadows from the stone walls falling across his shoulders.

And no one noticed that beneath the pudgy face of Peter Pettigrew, Wormtail silently filed away the new information as the picture of the wizarding world he alone saw and heard grew ever wider and more complex.


	14. 3 January 1977

Remus Lupin curled up in his usual chair by the Gryffindor fireplace. His honey colored eyes were closed; his tawny hair spilled over his arms. The mood in the common room was somber and reserved as the Gryffindors returned one by one from the winter hols. Remus had only just returned; Peter's trunk was already in the dorm room, but he wasn't about the dormitory anywhere. James and Sirius had gone to Godric's Hollow over the hols to settle Sirius into his new rooms, into his new life with the Potters.

Remus had gone home to spend Christmas with his family for the first time since starting at Hogwarts. Transformations were safer at Hogwarts than the spare shed behind his parents' house. And, after The Marauders, easier too. This year the timing had been all right, and Remus still felt uneasy after _the incident_ , so he was grateful to get away.

But he'd forgotten how different things were; he had forgotten how Muggle the village was, and how little connection his parents had to the wizarding world. Remus had not really been so aware of how dark the world had become, under the shadow of Voldemort, until he sat in his Mum's sitting room and heard his Dad complain good-naturedly about the rising price of milk bottles.

It was trivial. It was pale.

The threat of the Dark Lord was there just the same, but his parents paid little heed to the gathering storm. Whether it was ignorance, or merely denial, Remus didn't discuss it with his parents. He missed the magic of Christmas at Hogwarts; he missed the presence of charms and spells, even the charms and spells that locked him into the Shack during a full moon. Remus missed the wizarding world, and he missed his friends, and he missed Sirius.

Home wasn't at his parent's house anymore. And his dreams kept him up at night, worried by the vision of Voldemort's followers rampaging through the Muggle village like a barbarian horde.

Remus must have drifted off, curled around himself, because the next thing he knew there were soft lips pressed against the nape of his neck.

"Moony." A velvet voice whispered.

"Mmmm." Remus murmured drowsily. He felt arms pushing him and then Sirius Black squeezing into the seat with him, their bodies melding together. James sat down heavily on the battered couch next to them.

"Things are a lot worse than…" he began darkly, "… well, than I realized."

"What happened?" Remus asked, lifting his head and shaking off sleep.

"Nothing happened, Moony." Sirius soothed. "It's just that -"

"Just that things aren't rosy anymore. Maybe they never really were." James dropped his head into his hands. "From the way my parents were talking, it seems like this has been going on for years, longer than we've been at Hogwarts even."

"We were children, Prongs. How were we supposed to know anything." Sirius said softly. But Remus knew that neither he nor Sirius had ever really just been children. Not like that.

"I know, Pads. I'm just frustrated is all." James muttered through his hands. "They say that a war is coming… Heck, they say that the war has already begun. I'm not even certain what the sides are."

"I thought it was Voldemort -" Remus began.

"Shh! Moony, don't say _his_ name." James interrupted, jerking his head up quickly. "You never know who could be listening. You never know what side they might be on. What if you said the wrong thing? There were deaths over the holidays - and they _weren't the first_."

James stood up abruptly, and began pacing before the flickering flames. His face was dark and unsettled, hands balled tightly and shoved deeply in his pockets. When he spoke again, it was in stark contrast to his actions, a quiet and very still voice: "More people will die before this is over, I can feel it."

 

Remus shivered. Sirius tightened his protective embrace.

 

"Of course this is all because of … umm… you-know-who." Sirius' voice was low, but not comforting at all. "All these years, all that tripe I was fed about purebloods and power, that was all _His_ doing. _His_ influence. I don't know if my parents had ever met _Him_ before last year, but they've been serving his Glorious Cause just the same."

"He's been building up networks of respectable wizarding folk. Infiltrating the Ministry, the Daily Prophet, maybe even Hogwarts!" James sat back down. "You just can't _know_. There was always someone who would talk about being better than Muggles and Muggle-born wizards; but now, maybe it _means_ something. Or maybe it doesn't."

"Prongs is worried about Evans." Sirius said in Remus' ear.

"Prongs is worried about a lot more than just Evans." James said indignantly to cover his embarrassment. "What about your parents Moony? Your dad's a Muggle-born, isn't he?"

"Grandma Lupin was a Muggle… but the Lupin family is 'pureblooded' enough. So was Mum's family." Remus said slowly, trying hard not to think about the awful dreams he'd had over the Christmas break.

"There is no such thing as _pureblooded enough_." James whispered.

"What changed?" Remus wondered out loud.

"We're old enough to see it ourselves?" Sirius guessed.

"It's more than just that." James shook his head. "You know that Padfoot. We should be getting the Daily Prophet. We have to pay more attention."

"Attention to what? How are we to track what social networks this crackpot _Lord_ has been putting together? Read the society pages?" Remus asked, struggling to keep his wolfishness from getting the better of his frustration.

" _Morsmordre_." James said. Sirius shivered and clung tighter to Remus.

"What?" Remus asked.

"The Dark Mark." Sirius answered. "It's used to mark the places where the murders have happened. It's been all through the paper… but your folks don't get the Daily Prophet. It's hideous; you're not really missing much." Sirius tried to chuckle, but it came out strangled and forced.

"For the longest time, they didn't even know what incantation was creating the mark. But the wizards in the MLE announced a couple months ago that they had pieced it together… from the combined ramblings of the survivors." James looked grim.

"Murders? Survivors?" Remus gasped, going pale. "This isn't about society and pureblooded snobs anymore."

"No." Sirius said. "It's about _Avada Kedavra_ and the Cruciatus curse."

"It's about civil war." James somberly, turning his face to the flickering fire.

Remus didn't want to believe it, but he had never seen James look so serious before.

"Things are a lot worse than I realized." Remus said softly.

"And now you're officially caught up with us, as I believe that's where we _began_ this discussion." James' voice was laced with bitterness. "I just don't know where all this came from. I mean, who do these guys think they are? What gives them the right to _kill_ people?"

"The answers to your questions are: the Knights of Walpurgis; and, Because they are protecting the strength of the wizarding world." A tight, high voice stated.

"Peter! When did you get here?" James said, startled. He jumped up slightly, and motioned for Peter to join them. The mousy boy shrugged innocuously and moved to sit next to James on the couch.

"You might keep your voices down." He said finally, squeaking a bit at the end of the suggestion. "Everyone else is talking about _it_ too, but you don't know _who_ might be saying _what_." His eyes darted quickly beyond the Marauders, across the rest of the huddled clumps of Gryffindors in the Common Room.

"You're right, Wormtail." Sirius said solemnly. "About the voices thing. But about the other -" Sirius snorted. "The Knights of Walpurgis? Give me a break. They're just a bunch of toadies and prats with too much money and free time. A gentleman's club. Stuck on old robes and talk of Tradition."

James snorted at Sirius' description. Remus stifled a giggle. Peter narrowed his eyes.

"They know dinner parties and how to lose spectacularly on the stakes of the Quidditch circuit. The only Dark Mark one of the Knights would know about would be the dark mark on his skin from the syphilis he caught sleeping around with his mistresses. And they wouldn't know a Cruciatus if their own wives hit 'em with one on the arse."

Remus smothered a grin. Nothing could get Sirius hotter than a chance to run at the mouth about his disdain for elite society and the simpering prats he had to live with for 16 years.

"Don't worry, puppy." Remus said, turning his head to the side. "We've just narrowly saved you from that most certain doom; but your life is free of that harrowing fate now."

With a grin, he pressed his lips to Sirius' cheek, thereby distracting him from his rant. James rolled his eyes as Remus and Sirius became more involved in distracting each other from current events. Deciding that the conversation was effectively over, James shrugged. He set aside his dark thoughts for another day and cleared his throat loudly.

"AH-hEM. I'm knackered. I'm going to bed now. Classes tomorrow bright and early. And we need to plan for you-know-what on Wednesday." James paused a moment to glance thoughtfully at Lily's pale, worried face on the other side of the room. "Sleep first. We'll find solutions to these problems in the light of a new day." He murmured pensively. "More people will die before this is over, I can feel it."

Peter watched James move away to the staircase, the world forgotten in his own private musings. Remus and Sirius forgot the world in each other's lips.

Wormtail quietly forgot nothing.

"…and they call themselves _Death Eaters_ now." He muttered to himself, angry that no one was listening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> _\- Timing-wise, Remus' parents may have been around during the Grindelwald war. Fenrir bites Remus because he's pissed off at Remus' father. And now Remus' parents have apparently pulled away into the Muggle world. Are any of these things related?_
> 
> Maybe. Maybe only in trivial ways. Remus' parents moved to the Muggle world primarily because their son was turned into a werewolf. Since Remus is one of the three main characters in the Past Tense series, and the other two are either unfairly incarcerated or become a Death Eater spy, later fics in the series will focus very much on Remus' life and POV. So you'll get some more details about his parents later on. However, his parents are just background, so don't be expecting much by way of character development. I've put most of it out there already, so go re-read the Prologue if you really want to understand my version of Mr. and Mrs. Lupin.


	15. 28 January 1977

As the usual hustle and bustle of the spring term swept up the students, the darkness that had fallen in their minds over the winter holidays seemed to recede. Days became weeks, and the threats of a world at civil war were happily traded for the threats of unfinished homework and James' upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff.

In fact, the dismal mood broke entirely when James returned from classes Friday afternoon with a large, lopsided grin on his face. Sirius raised an eyebrow at him from the Marauders' usual couch by the fire. Beside him, Remus had fallen asleep in his textbook. Peter was sitting on the floor at their feet looking dejectedly at his Advanced Charms text.

"Wotcher Prongs?" Sirius asked, keeping his voice down. He shifted gently under Remus' weight, much the same way he had been moving softly in their relationship ever since _the incident_.

James collapsed in the chair beside the couch. "Lily Evans is going with me." He said as if declaring the end of war and famine.

"Evans?" Sirius snorted. "Going with you? Where? Bonkers?"

"Prat." James grinned and slapped Sirius across the back of his head. The abrupt movement woke Remus, who quickly blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

"Wankers!" he growled. "I was taking a nap!"

James and Sirius burst out laughing and Peter joined in the excuse to put aside his homework.

"Sorry Moony," James gasped between chuckles, "I was just telling Pads here the good news… and the git didn't believe me."

"Well," Remus replied with a sly grin, "you _do_ have a reputation as something of a prankster."

"Is it really that impossible to believe that I, James Bowman Potter, have won the attentions of a girl?" James asked, exasperated.

"You always had her attention, Prongs." Sirius laughed. "I think it was her _arse_ you were trying to win."

At Sirius' jovial comments, James suddenly sobered. Remus watched his boyish grin melt into a thoughtful expression.

"Prongs?" Sirius backpedaled. "Jamie?"

"Not attention," Remus spoke up quietly, " _Affection_." He smiled softly.

James looked at the amber-eyed studious boy gratefully. Both young men shared a glowing look, radiating a calm certainty that almost seemed out-of-place among tattered textbooks and schoolboy pranks.

"Bugger." Sirius said, his grey eyes wide. "You're really serious about this."

James nodded once and turned to face the fire briefly. "I've been thinking it over," he said softly. "All the pranks and jokes and, um, you know. All the rest of it. I've been trying to show off for her since fourth year…"

"Since _forever_." Sirius said smugly.

"Mr. Prongs stands corrected." James grinned wryly, but his serious mood quickly returned. "Then, after… November… I realized that showing off wasn't _showing_ her anything. It certainly wasn't _showing_ her how I really felt. And more than that, I was wasting time. I was being an utter prat rather than just _being with her_."

"Please, Prongs, I beg of you: don't make us listen to you wax lyrical about Evans." Sirius moaned playfully.

"And why not?" James demanded. "I listened to you _wax lyrical_ about Moony for _years_."

At that comment, Sirius' smirking mouth snapped shut. Remus turned large honeyed eyes toward his boyfriend.

"Years?" He asked.

"Yeah, Moony." Sirius replied, his voice awkwardly thick. "Years."

"Absolutely besotted, is what I said." James put in. "Called him a poofter with a thing for a werewolf." The last bit was said is a whisper, fondly remembering the mock-argument in the library last year. On the floor, Peter moved suddenly, a surprising scowl crossing his face and disappearing just as quickly. The emotion was fast enough that none of the other boys really saw it. Mistaking Peter's thoughts, James turned and patted his friend comfortingly.

"Don't worry about it mate." He said amicably. "There's someone out there for you, too. Just be thankful your life is relatively _normal_. You're safe from all the pitfalls of life with Moony, or life chasing after Evans."

Peter didn't reply, but looked vaguely put out for some reason.

" _Pitfalls_?" Moony asked incredulously. Sirius flinched and glared accusingly at James, who had enough tact to change the subject.

"So I finally just asked her if she'd go with me to Hogsmeade." James put in quickly.

"Just like that?" Sirius raised his eyebrows. _Thanks, mate_ , he mouthed silently.

"Yes, actually. I never realized before that I've never actually _just spoken_ to her. It's always been calling out to her in the middle of some prank or joke. So I waited after Advanced Charms today and just said, _excuse me, Lily? I was wondering if you'd let me treat you at Hogsmeade tomorrow._ "

"She was probably impressed that you even knew her first name." Remus grinned cheekily.

"She was probably impressed that he was asking her permission for something." Sirius moaned, "Your reputation is shot, mate. Asking a _girl_ if she'd _let you_ do something."

James rolled his eyes briefly upward. Remus silently agreed, and slapped Sirius across the back of his head.

"I'm going to let her decide where to go and what to do. Even if it means going to that Puddifoot woman's tea shop. But we aren't going anywhere near the Shack."

"Hmmm." Sirius mused out loud, "Perhaps I should take advantage of your preoccupation with Evans, to indulge my own furry little _preoccupation_."

"Prat." Remus murmured, "I'm only furry once a month, unlike _some_ wizards I know, who continue to shed all over my bed even though I've told them specifically not to."

The young men all smiled at each other then, each looking forward to their weekend.

Peter sat silently contemplating how to best take advantage of his friends' preoccupation.

James Potter and Sirius Black used to be such important and powerful boys. They used to have a sort of energy that radiated out from them, and controlled the rest of Hogwarts without even trying. But that power, that radiance, was fading. Wormtail didn't know where it was going, but he knew enough to see that his _best friends_ were not the ones who would be calling the shots in a few short years.

They didn't know what Wormtail knew. If Potter and Black did, they'd be asking him for his advice right at this very moment. Wormtail knew what he'd tell them, too.

They had to stop mucking about with half-breeds and half-bloods. Not that Wormtail really disliked Lupin, or Evans for that matter. Evans was smart and pretty and very good at Charms. Lupin was powerful, and easy enough to distract with chocolate and the hand of friendship. _They_ weren't specifically dangerous, it was what they _represented_ to the people who would be in power sooner or later. It wouldn't do to be inextricably linked to half-breeds and half-bloods when You Know Who finally put his foot down.

And he would.

Then there would be hell to pay for anyone who hadn't thought far enough in advance to realize that they were just digging themselves in deeper. Wormtail knew a thing or two, and he knew that it always paid off to make the biggest wand your ally. And his new allies saw things a bit differently than his old friends. _Friends_ , he thought with an inward grimace, _that don't even listen to me or notice me unless it suits their own plans_.

Wormtail wondered if he could use his new allies to open his old friends' eyes.

Change was coming; it just wouldn't do to continue blithely on. When all was said and done, Potter and Black would probably thank Wormtail for looking out for their own good. Then they would both realize what a clever, strong wizard Wormtail had been all along.  
  


* * *

 

  
"Lily?" James' voice was gentle as she floated in a dizzy blackness. "Lily, stay with me. I'll get you to Pomfrey quick. She'll fix us up faster than you can finish a Charms practical."

The voice was comforting, joking so sweetly like that. Charms was easy, everyone knew that Charms was her easiest class. Somehow the numbing pain didn't seem so bad anymore.

"Lily! Listen to my voice! You can't lose consciousness. You've got to stay with me. We're almost back to Hogwarts, Lils." The voice was ragged now, broken by heavy breathing and traces of worry.

In the back of the blackness, Lily Evans wondered briefly how such a smart girl like herself could have forgotten how dangerous the wizarding world could be. It had only been for a moment, just a brief moment, when she had said yes to James Potter. Allowed herself to just be a girl for once, just a girl going out on a date. She had let her defenses down, and this was the result.

Lily Evans was not a fool.

She was very well aware who was casting the curses these days, and exactly what they thought of witches and wizards like herself. She heard it muttered behind her back in the halls. She heard it hissed bitterly when she got high marks in class. She heard it in silent glares and haughty expressions.

 _Mudblood_. 

The taste of dirt and blood mixed in her mouth, but she could not command her body to spit it out. Both the blood and the blackness were thicker now, threatening to drown her. Clumsily she flailed about desperate to keep afloat. And there was the voice again.

 

"I'm so sorry, Lily. I should have seen that coming. Prats. Horrible bastards, to say that to you. I should have done something sooner. I swear I won't let them hurt you again."

In her mind, Lily was nodding, agreeing and crying. She wanted to tell the comforting voice that they both should have seen it. They both should have done something. She wanted to scream out loud that she would never let them hurt her again.

Lily Evans was not a fool.

She was very well aware that something had happened last fall. Something important that had changed James Potter. She had watched him closely before leaving for the winter hols. She had watched him closely for the month they'd been back. Lily saw the new weight he carried about his shoulders; she saw the way he had begun studying with focus and intensity. She was very well aware that James Potter had brashly decided in his fifth year that he wanted to become an Auror. It was flashy and impulsive at the time; a career choice full of glory and adventure for a dashing and carefree young man. She was also very well aware that unlike a year ago, the James Potter that was now currently carrying her back to Hogwarts at full speed had a very serious intention to become an Auror, and it had nothing to do with glory or adventure.

Even the taste of blood in her mouth was becoming indistinct. Lily felt herself slipping away and wished she could just put one single sentence together. She wanted to tell James that they should learn how to duel together, better. So they could work together in a fight. So they could be together without being distracted by worrying about the other. Because she was beginning to think that maybe she wanted to be together with this new James Potter for a while. She wanted to get to know him, to find out what had changed him this year, to find out what will change him next year… and maybe to be there with him when it did.

 

"Good Merlin! What happened? Put her over here!"

Lily was not a fool.

She was very well aware that whatever they had done, it had been serious.

"Just outside of Hogsmeade - attacked us from behind - we were alone -"

There was neither taste nor feeling left now. Lily was sinking back into the blackness. In her mind she wrapped the comforting voice around her and held on tightly.

"The last hex was - I've never heard it before - _Sectumsempra_ \- Please _do_ something -"

And Lily slipped away in darkness.


	16. 1 February 1977

Severus Snape had been lingering after his Advanced Potions class, trying yet again to demonstrate his sheer brilliance to that twit Slughorn. Scowling darkly at his continuing lack of success, Snape silently cursed the walrus of a Potions teacher who continued to ignore him for no justifiable reason. Not when Slughorn was fawning over spineless sycophants like Regulus Black and Mudbloods like Evans. By this time, Severus knew that if Slughorn ever offered him a place in the vaunted Slug Club, Severus would sneer and turn him down flat. Loudly, spitefully, and in a very public place. That is the only reason Severus continued to try to secure Slughorn's attention. No other reasons than disdain.

Severus Snape had been lingering, and that was why he was alone in a dungeon hallway hurrying toward his next class, when another Slytherin student quietly slipped into step beside him.

Hiding his shock and surprise, Snape glowered menacingly. And silently cursed Slughorn more, just for good measure. It was Nott. He could only want to speak about the little… incident… that happened in Hogsmeade Saturday last. Well, the Mudblood bitch had been hospitalized all week and the great prat Potter had no idea who had attacked him, so Nott couldn't possibly have anything to complain about. But knowing his luck, Severus Snape prepared himself to fend off yet another attack. The best defense was offense, and all that rot.

"That hex was quite… _impressive_...Snape. I'm certain that you didn't share that spell for purely…altruistic reasons, no?"

Snape lifted an eyebrow and sneered. "Of course my motives were purely altruistic. I am _such_ a giving individual after all."

"Well," Nott mused. "If we are in a giving mood, shall I say that I have something to give to _you_ in return for you giving _me_ that handy little hex?"

"You shall… but forgive me, Nott, if I believe you are being untruthful." Snape replied tartly.

Nott chuckled darkly and turned them down a corridor that was not often used by other students.

"And that, _dear_ Severus, is where your lack of vision wounds me."

"You hardly appear injured." Snape remarked scathingly.

"I admit that my _injuries_ are mere flesh wounds. Indeed… the gifts I have to bestow make most of _your_ best hexes nothing but trifles."

Snape tightened his grip on his wand as a reflex.

"And am I to believe you would offer _gifts_ of such caliber to share with me?" Snape questioned tersely.

Nott moved closer as their pace slowed slightly. "Oh ye of little faith." He breathed hotly across Snape's ear, "We have been watching you, Severus Snape."

Severus felt something deep inside himself recoil, but remained impassive and unmoving on the outside as Nott continued quietly.

"We have been pleased so far. Do nothing to lose our favors, and someday very soon you, too, might find yourself among the … _gifted_ … at this flimsy excuse for a school of wizardry."

With that, Nott veered away down an adjoining hall and disappeared among the mass of students moving to their next classes. Severus Snape's cool mask broke into a dark scowl. He muttered angrily about his desire to scoff at Slughorn and then publicly emasculate Nott. In his fantasies, both things happened in rapid succession followed quickly by the Minister of Magic awarding him the Order of Merlin, First Class, for innovative discoveries in the field of Potions as well as successfully authoring a record-breaking number of original spells and jinxes.

For some reason even his own fantasies left Severus Snape with a bitter, unfulfilled taste in his mouth.

Spitting viciously on the floor, Severus Snape spun on his heel and stalked to his own class.


	17. 14 February 1977

"… so this piece of string walks into a bar…" Sirius began, a sloppy grin plastered drunkenly across his face.

"A frayed knot." Came a chorus of groans from his fellow Gryffindors, all lounging around the common room in various states of inebriation and nervousness.

It was Monday evening, the 14th of February and the Hufflepuffs had organized a school-wide 'Love and Unity' party for Valentine's Day. The party was going to start soon and most of the Gryffindor males had taken to Sirius and James' secret stash of firewhiskey while waiting for their dates to emerge. Peter had already left the tower to escort his date from the Hufflepuff common room. Remus sat quietly by the fire, watching Sirius gaily caper about. James also sat quietly, still slightly tense whenever Lily Evans was not within eye sight. It was understandable considering how badly she had been hexed just over two weeks ago.

Sirius' smile faltered slightly. "You've already heard that one, then?" he asked with a wounded expression.

"Aw, puppy." Remus crooned, "At least you have proof that we actually listen to the innocuous drivel you spout while thoroughly pissed."

Sirius pouted slightly, then thought better of it, and grinned happily at Remus. At least they could be more open in Gryffindor. Once they got down to the Great Hall and the rest of the school, they would both be attending "without dates." Remus thought it was a small price to pay for just an extra ounce of safety as times got steadily darker; Sirius was beginning to chafe under the constant need for caution and tact. Sirius dropped heavily to the floor at Remus' feet, and dropped his head on Remus' knees.

Idly tangling his hands through Sirius' dark hair, Remus pondered the wild spirit that was Sirius Black. While he was often reckless and brash, Sirius had a surprisingly good heart. Admittedly, he was something of a loose canon, but Remus wanted to believe that Sirius would never knowingly do wrong by Remus or the Marauders.

From his knee, Remus could hear Sirius barely whispering a melody, " _Wait and see if tomorrow we'll be as happy as we're feeling tonight…_ " The song was vaguely familiar, something by that Muggle band Queen probably, a recent release. It seemed oddly appropriate, but Remus couldn't remember the rest of the lyrics, and so he couldn't place why the song felt right. Then the next moment, his musing was cut short as James inhaled a sudden breath, his eyes lifting to the dormitory stairs. Lily, resplendent in gauzy green dress robes trimmed with glittering gold, descended the stairs with the other Gryffindor girls.

With a burst of noise and bustle of movement, the whole of Gryffindor tower was gathering its sash or gloves or dress-cloak and tumbling out of the portrait hole. Remus felt a brief chill as Sirius' comforting weight and warmth lifted from his knee. Frowning slightly, Remus sensed a shift in the air, a coldness from Sirius as he withdrew to the other side of James and Lily. Of course, that was the way it had to be, but it bothered Remus; his stomach twisted sharply and he suddenly felt as if he had been smacked by a bludger right in the chest. He bit his lower lip and tried to compose his features while James shot him a questioning glance.

Remus shook his head and motioned for them to follow the rest of their classmates out of the dormitory. They had plans to meet up with Peter in front of the Great Hall, after all. Focusing only on the immediate moment, Remus tried to dismiss thoughts of his other plans for that night. Plans that he regarded with a sudden uncertainty. Tonight was the Valentine's party, the fourteenth of February; that meant that, at the stroke of midnight, it became the fifteenth of February, and Lupercalia once again.

The plan, so far as James and Remus had briefly discussed it a week ago, was to spend the night with Sirius. The whole night, and to ask Sirius to be his bond-mate. James had whole-heartedly agreed it was about time. In fact, he had spent considerable time that week sneaking off to the Shack to transfigure proper furniture and linens and candles and curtains and Merlin-knows-what-else. Remus had left him to it, too busy trying not to be nervous about the whole scheme.

But now, watching Sirius move away without so much as a glance backward, Remus fought to keep breathing. Had something gone wrong? Was Sirius upset about something? Did Sirius remember about Lupercalia; was he trying to tell Remus something? And what did he mean by the song he was singing? _Wait and see if tomorrow we'll be as happy as we're feeling tonight…_ Was there a secret message in that?

Last year, it had all been too new and too soon. But now Remus had been through Lupercalia twice on his own… and they were all wizarding adults anyway… and Remus had honestly thought that Sirius felt _that way_ about him. Remus chewed his lip and followed Sirius, James and Lily. Maybe he had made a mistake. Maybe it was just that _Remus_ wanted things to be _that way_ between them. And he was merely being over-sensitive right now because he was worried about his plans for later.

Remus took a deep breath and tried to calm down a bit. They found Peter and his date outside the Great Hall as planned, and swept with the crowd into the Hall. For the next few hours, Remus barely noticed anything except Sirius Black. He watched as Sirius laughed openly with some Ravenclaws, and then solicitously led quite a few Hufflepuffs in a succession of dances. Once, as Remus was trying to hide himself miserably in a shadow on the other side of the punch bowl, he thought he saw Sirius searching beyond the head of the girl in his arms. But Remus ducked his head when Sirius' gaze scanned near where he stood.

"Moony, you're going to give yourself a heart attack if you keep it up." James murmured secretly, as he filled cups for himself and Lily. "What in Merlin's name has gotten into you?"

"I don't know Prongs." Remus shifted back and forth on his feet. "Pads is…"

"Dancing and generally carrying on like he normally does?" James arched an eyebrow.

"I guess… I just…" Remus stammered briefly at a loss for an explanation.

"You ought to relax. Just come and chat with Lils and I while we take a rest. Peter and his date what's-her-name are busy dancing right now, so you won't have to worry about minding what you say." Remus stared nervously at James for a moment, but the offer was sincere.

"Okay." He finally relented, secretly relieved to have something to distract him from the tense bundle of Devil's Snare currently strangling his internal organs.

"Oi Lily, I caught this poor bugger loitering behind the punch bowl and invited him to join us for a bit - if you don't mind?" James explained jovially as they approached the quaintly decorated round table where Lily was sitting. She had her stockinged feet stretched out wearily in front of her, ungracefully sprawled in her chair. Her dancing shoes dangled from their straps held lightly in her left hand.

"Poor bugger indeed!" She exclaimed with a sly grin. "I heard that this particular bloke has the dubious honor of being the sole _poor bugger_ of one Mr. Sirius Black. He's the most shaggable man in Hogwarts."

Remus nearly choked on the punch he had been sipping and James looked put out.

"Well, maybe not as shaggable as Mr. James Potter," Lily amended with a wink at her date, "but that might just be my personal opinion."

James brightened considerably, but Remus was still spluttering on punch.

"Don't worry about it, love." Lily said softly, leaning across the table to touch Remus' hand in a confidential manner. "It's _common_ knowledge - as in - only people inside the Gryffindor _common_ room have any proof. You've got nothing to worry about."

Remus looked miserably down at her hand on his. If only she knew the half of it…

"Someone _does_ have proof." Remus muttered darkly. Perhaps he should have just stayed by the punch bowl. Perhaps he ought to call off his plans for the night; they were taking a rather large risk, sneaking off the Shack and all. Lily eyed James curiously in response to Remus' comment, but didn't remove her hand.

"That's why Sirius moved in with us over the hols." James offered as explanation. "Somebody sent pictures to his parents, and they disowned him. We don't know who sent the pictures, or even how they got them in the first place." James shrugged a little. "I think that Moony here has more on his mind tonight, however. He has _Plans_ … Or he _had_ Plans."

"I'm just not sure it's such a good idea anymore Prongs… is all…" Remus flushed and looked away. He felt Lily squeeze his hand lightly before she sat back and spared a measured glance between the two Marauders.

"But Moony, you two have had this coming since _third year_! If you don't do it now, you _know_ when the next chance will be. Why in the world would you want to wait?" James' voice was a mixture of concern, empathy, and frustration. He leaned closer to Remus, who was fighting the urge to slouch down in the chair.

"Is it because of _the incident_?" James asked quietly. "I thought you two had been working that out… and, well…"

There was a thick silence for a long moment. Lily merely raised an eyebrow and cocked her head slightly, listening carefully to the two young men. Remus still refused to look up, and seemed to be chewing on his own tongue in order to refrain from saying something. James sat thoughtfully for a moment, as a light blush slowly crept across his face.

"Look, Moony. After _the incident_ , I did some thinking. It really… affected me. Changed how I thought about … some things. You and Pads, neither of you ever really got the sort of _normal_ childhood that I had, that Peter has. And a lot of that is over now, for all of us. I'm going to go for Auror training when I graduate - and I'm actually going to be training to fight, really fight, in this bloody civil war. You _know_ what the future is going to hold for you and for Sirius Black."

"It's not because of _that_ , Prongs." Remus quietly cut off James' rambling.

"I think James is merely trying to point out that life might not be as long or as certain as we hope." Lily said softly, glancing warmly at James. Her hand reached out tenderly to grasp his. "Sometimes something seems like a complete disaster, but can really work out right. Something painful or frightening can be the thing that opens your eyes to how… precious… it all is."

"Like a horrific first date where someone makes an attempt on your life." James said wryly. Lily smiled a half-secret smile and wrapped the warmth of James' voice around herself like a blanket.

"See, Remus? That's why you always have to try, even when you're uncertain. Because you never know until you just go for it." Lily said fondly.

" _Wait and see if tomorrow we'll be as happy as we're feeling tonight…_ That's what he was singing tonight, up in the common room. I know it's stupid, but I keep thinking, _what if he was trying to say something_?" Remus shook his head ruefully. "I mean, look at him… Sirius Black has everything - he _is_ everything. I…" Remus lifted his empty hands slightly, and then dropped them dejectedly back to the table. "We connect on an amazingly deep, _visceral_ level… but…"

"But what if you need him more than he needs you?" Lily finished the sentence.

Remus nodded mutely. He thought about his life, about his curse. He thought about the silly way that Sirius always called it his _furry little problem_. Remus knew that he didn't have much to offer to Sirius that Sirius couldn't find somewhere else. And here he was, Remus Lupin on the eve of Lupercalia, planning to _use_ his curse to bind Sirius to him for a whole year.

"Remus Lupin, look at me." Lily's voice cut through his thoughts. Remus responded to the command before he could stop himself. The startling green eyes caught and held his amber eyes with a piercing gaze.

"You are brilliantly intelligent. You have a keen knack for Defense, high marks in all your classes, and an eye for detail rivaled by few at this school - _including_ the professors! I have seen you stand loyally beside your friends through the worst moments of their lives. I have been watching as you quietly dealt with your own personal life in addition to shouldering bravely all the normal expectations of a student at Hogwarts. Whatever it is in your life that James and Sirius know about that I am not privy to - and I don't need to know -" Lily waved aside Remus' stricken look, "whatever it is, it has clearly been a source of strength for you."

"A source of _what_?" Remus exclaimed, aghast. _A source of strength?_

"It has made you who you are, Remus." Lily said firmly. "And the wizard I can see is so many wonderful, worthwhile things, that I cannot believe that whatever _it_ is, that it is something bad. Don't we learn that right away in Herbology? A plant with rotted roots will grow nothing of worth, and only produce stilted materials no good for harvest and magical use. Clearly whatever is at _your root_ is not rotten. I can tell that you _think_ it is, the way you struggle with it, but look at how much beauty and worth it has brought to your life." Lily waved a hand at James and pointed at Sirius on the dance floor. She gestured to everything within the Great Hall, and gazed steadily at Remus.

Then Lily leaned in, pulling Remus closer with her brilliant green gaze. Remus felt as if the entire world melted away into an inky puddle of background noise. All he could see or hear was directly in front of him, commanding all his attention. He saw Lily Evans smile warmly in her eyes, and felt her unflinching touch as she placed her hands firmly on his.

" _Remus Lupin_ ," she said grandly, " _your life is of immeasurable value, roots and all_."

Amber eyes blinked: closing and then opening as if seeing for the first time.

Like a man possessed, Remus stood up quickly and turned toward the dancers. He barely had to search for Sirius Black, as the other boy was already divested of a dance partner and making his way toward their table. Ignoring all else, Remus prowled hungrily to his lover and his chosen bond-mate.

Watching the two make a hasty exit, James Potter turned to face Lily Evans with wide eyes.

"You know… you're really scary sometimes." He said admiringly. "Positively _brilliant_ … but scary."

"I know." Lily mused, looking at the door thoughtfully. "I just took a chance, really. I don't know a thing about Lupercalia, I hope I didn't just send them out to get hurt."

James blinked, shock written across his face. "You… know?" he asked incredulously.

"Please, James. _'Moony'_? It _is_ a little obvious to those of us who are paying attention to you."

"And are you?" a sly grin.

"Am I what?" a wicked tease.

"Paying attention." a hand run through wild hair.

"Only to you, James. Only to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> The joke that Sirius tries to tell at the beginning of this chapter is a running joke of sorts. It is mentioned in passing throughout various fics in the Past Tense series. If you are curious to hear the full joke, Remus will eventually tell it to Harry during the summer before his 6th year - that fic is part of a story arc called "The Journey" which is a companion piece for the Past Tense series. Due to my original fic archive being taken down, I currently only have unedited handwritten versions of these fics - but maybe eventually I'll get them posted here at AO3 - if people are interested. 
> 
> The song is "You & I" by Queen
> 
>  _\- the Hufflepuffs had organized a school-wide 'Love and Unity' party for Valentine's Day._   
>  Originally this was simply a Valentines Day Ball... here's what my beta told me: _Why would Hogwarts (which only did this *once* in canon & that was a Big. Fucking. Deal.) throw a Ball? Students throwing a school-wide Valentine's Day party among themselves = good; school throwing a Ball = brings up a lot of questions._
> 
> Eventually she talked me 'round, and I agreed. Plus, I like to snicker at the Hufflepuffs and the "Love and Unity" party. Came to me after drinking too many Dr. Peppers and watching an old episode of Sailor Moon. *giggle* 
> 
> _\- This is silly & shallow, I know, but I'm *so* glad you have Lily in something a red head would wear. You have no idea how many fics I've read in which Lily wears nothing but bright Gryffindor red & gold._
> 
> Gag me with a spoon! I'm all for house pride and all, but please. No self-respecting girl would wear less-than-her-best just because her boyfriend hates Slytherin. Besides, this version of Lily Evans is tough as nails; she's got enough to handle the Marauders, and she'll do it looking like a million galleons, thank you very much.
> 
> _\- "Poor bugger..." This strikes me as very Velvet Goldmine-y for some reason._
> 
> Although I've got a lot of Velvet Goldmine sprinkled throughout Past Tense, this particular reference is actually from somewhere else. It's hommage to a scene in an indy gay Brit movie called "Get Real." It was in theaters shortly after I came out and while I was still having ... large... problems with my family - so the movie has a special place in my heart.
> 
> _\- Lily. Is. Great. Since she's never appeared in the books, we have *no* idea of her character (except for pervy Slughorn talk, ew ew); I think what's most important about writing Lily is that she's real, she's strong, and she's able to keep up with all four Marauders (at once) (and no, that doesn't mean orgy time). Good job on her._
> 
> I'd be tickled pink, except that pink is not my color. Thanks for the happy.


	18. 15 February 1977

They ran breathlessly across the lawn toward the Whomping Willow, watching for prowling teachers and other students snogging in the gardens. Sirius, usually more aggressive, seemed content to be pulled wildly onward by Remus. As they reached the dangerous tree, both pulled their wands out in a fluid, synchronized movement; no words were needed to coordinate their actions, and their combined spell hit the tree and froze the branches. Their relentless pace slowed only a fraction as they approached, cast the spell, and then continued on into the tunnel.

Once they reached the Shack, however, the reality of their headlong rush swept up around Remus, and he stumbled slightly on the stairs. They had entered the Shack and cast the locking spell over their shoulders as their feet moved around tattered furnishings and up the rickety staircase. Now, paused at the topmost steps, Remus caught his breath and leaned heavily against the doorway to the upper bedchamber.

He realized that his hand was still clutching Sirius desperately by the wrist. Sirius waited on the step below him, his dark eyes alight with piercing energy. Even as Remus dropped his hand nervously beginning to panic again, Sirius pressed his body forward.

"Sirius… I -" Remus began, his voice thick and fumbling.

"Remus." Sirius said hungrily, "I know."

Remus' heart stuttered painfully in his chest, making the tawny werewolf gasp out loud. Blindly, his right hand groped for the doorknob while his whole world narrowed down to the sight of Sirius' lips leaning up to capture his mouth. Distantly, Remus heard a low, intense moan escape his own throat as Sirius growled approvingly.

The questing fingers found the knob and turned it roughly. The door swung open under the pressing weight of the two bodies, and they tripped into the room. Remus heard Sirius' sharp intake of air but was only vaguely aware of the surroundings himself. He would have to thank James later, because it appeared to please Sirius, who had redoubled his efforts.

Light and shadow swayed interplayed across Sirius' face from an old fashioned lantern swinging from the ceiling. Entranced by the flickering light, Remus tenderly reached his fingers to the glowing skin, tracing the ridges and lines of forehead, nose, cheekbones, jaw. He felt the tantalizing scrape of teeth as his fingertips splayed across slightly chapped lips. Faintly, Remus fancied he could still hear the music from the party in the distance. Sirius tasted of that ridiculous punch, and firewhiskey, and something else surprisingly cool and minty. Feeling rather like he had the first time they had ever been together, Remus blushed uncontrollably. He gulped greedily for air before pressing forward for another kiss.

Their lips crashed together uncomfortably hard, bumping noses and knocking teeth. Remus felt his lip split under the harsh assault but couldn't be bothered to care. Both he and Sirius backed away slightly to accommodate, but the simultaneous movement overcompensated and the result was a wet popping sound as their lips broke apart. Sirius grinned wildly and panted a bit, running his hands over Remus' back and hips. Remus merely growled in frustration.

"You're delectable when you're in a twist, Moony." Sirius commented, his voice velvety in the night.

The tension broken, Remus' laughter rang out in the softly lit room. This elicited another slow smile from Sirius. No longer panicked and no longer nervous about creating a 'perfect' evening, Remus relaxed for the first time in a week. He wrapped his arms tightly around Sirius' waist and drew the other boy's firm body against his own. They shifted back and forth for a moment, leaning on each other as they toed off their shoes and socks. Remus tilted his head against Sirius' shoulder and ran his tongue from the smooth lines of collarbone up the strong cords of neck muscles to tease at the sensitive spot just behind the dark boy's ear. Remus kneaded his splayed fingers in the small of Sirius' back, on either side of his spine.

Sirius clutched tightly at Remus' shoulders, tilting his head to the side to allow Remus more access. He also knew that baring his throat would rouse the attention of the wolfish side of his lover. Be it rough and wild, or soft and smooth, Sirius knew in the deepest parts of his heart that he wanted all of his lover - whatever Remus had to offer, Sirius wanted to taste it all.

"Reeemus!" Sirius breathed, as the tongue twirled briefly around the edge of his ear and was quickly replaced by nibbling teeth. Remus replied with only a hungry growl. Responding to the pressure on his back, Sirius blindly followed Remus as they moved in a tangle of legs and feet toward the bed waiting in the moonlight.

Although he was often the more aggressive of their couple, Sirius knew that all he wanted to do this particular night was submit to Remus' desires; there would be plenty of other nights to play back and forth for dominance. Tonight, Sirius felt something inside himself decide, was a night for Remus to savor and treasure. In a swirl of stormy-blue robes, Sirius broke away from Remus and fell backward onto the bed. He knew he must be a vision, his dark hair spread out away from his face and shoulders - blending into the inky sheen of the satiny sheets. The darkness of the bed, his splayed robes, and his hair unfolded in tantalizing contrast to his unmarked skin.

Above him, Sirius watched Remus stand heavily panting. His face flushing and his eyes turning to molten gold with arousal. As Sirius raised his hands with tantalizing slowness, he watched Remus with lidded eyes. The young werewolf licked his lips and began to prowl slowly around the bed, never taking his eyes from the body spread willingly before him.

Sirius felt a lopsided smile spread slowly across his face. His fingers pulled gently at the clasp on his dress robes. Then he pushed the material out away from his shoulders, dusky indigo fabric spilling away like crushed velvet wings. He had dressed for the party in stark contrast to the gay pinks and reds and golds typical of the lover's holiday; Sirius had dressed true to his name, like a deep night sky or a multilayered storm cloud - the dark purple and inky blue-grey setting off the striking color of his eyes. Now he felt himself growing hard watching Remus hungrily watching him as he slowly removed those carefully chosen and tailored clothes.

"I knew you were planning something." Sirius murmured as he slid the buttons through their holes. "I want you to know, because I want you to know that I want to be here." He continued as the deep blue silk of his shirt fell open across his chest.

"I want to be here with you. I want to always be with you." Sirius' voice whispered. He drew his fingertips down his bared skin, and saw Remus shudder.

"Whatever you want, Remus, I want." Sirius's fingers flicked open the button at the top of his trousers. With a needy, strangled noise, Remus was suddenly throwing himself forward. He straddled Sirius' hips and trapped the other boy's arms with his hands, growling possessively.

"Sirius…" he panted roughly, "you don't… know… what I want… I… I…"

Remus' eyes blazed like amber on fire as he rocked his hips roughly. Sirius moaned in delight at the feel of his lover's weight. He bit his lower lip as Remus bent forward and began tracing a path down the exposed neck and chest in languid licks and teasing scratches of teeth.

"Remus," Sirius gasped, "I know."

The tongue circled around a nipple, followed closely by lips and the sharp tug from teeth. "You don't know." Remus growled. Sirius writhed and panted, trying to pull his arms free from the werewolf's grasp.

"I …hold back." The rough voice moved from his nipple to his abdomen.

"I… know…" Sirius repeated as the tongue dipped ruthlessly into his navel. Remus teased Sirius by moving his tongue in a mocking plunging movement. Remus rubbed his erection against Sirius' thigh as he squirmed and pleaded and gasped.

"I'm … not… … you … can't possibly…" Remus' voice was gravelly and he moved his body back up over the prone figure.

"I _know_ … Remus… I _know_ … Moony…I…" Sirius begged deliriously, his head tilting back against the bed. Remus felt his throat tighten at the sight of Sirius baring his neck so wantonly. Remus' hands clutched tighter around Sirius' wrists leaving pale crescent-shaped marks where his fingernails dug into the flesh. As if to reward his lover, Remus moved forward, pressing their erections together. He rocked his hips slowly in a tight circle, relishing the feel of the friction between their bodies.

In the dwindling part of his mind where he was still nervous and insecure, Remus heard a voice whispering that he wasn't nearly good enough for Sirius Black. Ironically, the voice rather sounded like Severus Snape. That was the part of Remus that was flailing his arms wildly and screaming insistently that it was nearly midnight. Nearly Lupercalia.

 _Are you utterly daft?_ The voice was saying, _Have you taken leave of your senses entirely? You. Are. A. Werewolf! A Dark Creature. What do you think you are doing here with Sirius? Sharing dental floss?_

Remus was desperate for two things at this point in time: the best and most meaningful shag of his young life… and anything that would make the voice shut the hell up. Remus thought perhaps the solution to both those problems could be found in the words that were currently rolling off Sirius' lips and flowing like red wine across the bedspread.

"I know… Remus… I know… I want… you… fuck me, Moony… _take_ me…"

Remus' head shot up from where he had been preoccupied with Sirius' flesh. Amber-brown eyes met stormy-grey irises, nearly lost around black dilated pupils. Remus felt something begin to shift inside his muscles, a burning feeling tightening in his stomach and radiating outward rapidly. It was nearly midnight…

"I AM A _WEREWOLF_!" Remus heard himself yell desperately at Sirius. But desperate for what sort of response, Remus was not sure anymore.

"I KNOW!" Sirius screamed, dropping his head back and exposing his neck again. Remus felt he might go insane from the pressure building inside his slight body.

"Fuck me, Remus… Let go, be _Moony_ and _take me._ " Sirius ranted in between whimpering piteously and writhing uncontrollably. "I'm… all cut up… like my arms… _remember?_... just pieces of me… without you… bring me together…again… Remus… bind me to you… to Moony..."

" _Please_." The moan shuddered around the room and Remus felt the straining arms go limp. The black haired head rolled slightly to the side, stretching the neck out from the delicious joint at the collarbone, the back arching and the hips lifting. All reaching, all submitting, for him. And him alone.

And the earth turned just past the day before, falling into the early morning of a new day as the ties holding Remus back fell away. _Lupercalia_ hummed through his veins, _Bind me_ roared through his blood. _Sirius Sirius Sirius_ whispered across his skin.

Remus roughly released his grip on Sirius' arms. He plunged his hands around the boy's torso, lifting him effortlessly away from the bed. Sirius swallowed, but did not flinch or move or resist the touch. He ducked his head, bearing the back of his neck to the wolf, and then rolled his head to the side exposing the juncture of his throat and shoulder. His skin shivered as the fabric of his shirt slid free of his shoulders and dropped across his back. Still trapped in his shirt sleeves, Sirius' arms lay at his sides, wrists turned upward in a gesture of offering.

Kneeling astride Sirius' legs, Remus pulled their bodies together. The impulses were overwhelming him, and he couldn't see anything else in the room except the exposed flesh of his mate. The musky smell of his lover, ready and waiting willingly for him was intoxicating. With a lupine howl, Remus threw himself against Sirius, his lips caressing the perfect skin.

"Mine." He snarled hungrily, lovingly. And Remus bit down firmly, cherishing the taste of his lover and the tantalizing movement of muscle between his teeth.

"Mine." Remus hummed in ecstasy against the flesh, his jaw tightening and teeth tearing slightly. The salty tang of blood filled the air around them, seeped across his tongue, and saturated his vision. Sirius was moaning, moving arms still tangled up in stormy-blue silk to clutch at Remus' hips.

"Mine." Remus murmured, releasing his hold. He ran his tongue gently over the mouth-shaped mark already beginning to bruise. He kissed the spot lightly, pouring all the tender affection he felt into the act. "Stay with me," Remus felt the worlds flowing over them as if he were reciting an incantation more ancient than time itself. "Stay with me a year and a day."

"And forever." Sirius' voice floated around their embrace. "Time has no meaning, now, between you and I."

"Forever and a day." Remus agreed, his eyes searching for and finding the grey irises of his mate. They held each other lovingly in their gaze for one eternal moment.

Then both moved forward, catching lips together in a passionate lock. Remus bit lightly on Sirius' bottom lip while his hands ran down Sirius' arms. Without looking, Remus undid the buttons at Sirius' cuffs and pulled his hands free. Sirius licked wickedly at the corner of Remus' mouth while pushing his arms out of the way. Without breaking their kiss apart, they adjusted so that Sirius' hands could reach between their bodies. He deftly flicked the clasp of Remus' dress robes and impatiently pushed the fabric away.

Remus rewarded him by rocking his hips. The fingers moved quickly, divesting Remus of a shirt and undoing his trousers. Remus teased the edge of Sirius' tongue for a moment before pulling away and trailing quick, frenzied kisses down his neck. Before Sirius could move to reciprocate, Remus pushed him back down onto the bed with a low growl.

The werewolf followed the boy down, pressing heavily on top of him for a moment, relishing the feeling of their lean muscles pulling and pushing in rhythm with each other. Then Remus lifted himself, dragging his nails down Sirius' chest. He nearly ripped the fabric as he rapidly removed Sirius' trousers and boxers. Flexing his fingers against the toned muscles of Sirius' abdomen, Remus grinned wolfishly as he ran his tongue over the length of Sirius' cock. The startled boy shuddered in delight and the flesh twitched. Remus grasped the base in his left hand while his right hand wandered teasingly down between Sirius' spread legs.

"Reeeeeeemmussssssss…" Sirius' voice panted somewhere above him.

Remus swirled his tongue around the head before sucking most of the cock into his mouth. With one hand still gently massaging Sirius' arse, Remus moved his lips and tongue over Sirius' flesh humming in pleasure.

Sirius' eyelids dropped closed. He fisted one hand desperately in the tangled mess of silk shirt, velvet robes, and satiny sheets. Reaching impulsively downward, Sirius twisted the fingers of his other hand in Remus' wild hair. The vibrations from Remus humming around his length were doing wonderful things, sending all his blood and energy straight to his groin.

And just as suddenly as Remus began his torturous acts, he stopped, releasing Sirius' straining cock from his mouth with a purely mischievous grin. He gripped Sirius with his right hand and pulled across the velvety flesh once - twice - and then slipped his fingers into his mouth. All the time, his eyes stared hungrily at Sirius, spread out breathlessly on the bed.

Pulling his fingers from between his lips with a wet sound, Remus crawled forward, licking a path across Sirius' skin, savoring the taste of his panting lover. Pulled into a deep kiss, Sirius groaned into Remus' mouth. His eyes closed helplessly as he felt the wet fingers ghosting the sensitive skin around his arse. He arched his back, pushing against the fingers, begging to be filled. Remus chewed playfully on his ear while teasing him with two fingers, pushing and stretching and then pulling out again before Sirius could be satisfied.

Sirius wiggled and twisted. He curled his toes while relaxing the rest of his muscles around the wicked fingers stroking every inch of him from the inside out. Sirius turned his head into the crook of Remus' neck and arm, giving Remus more ear and neck and shoulder to play with. He inhaled the warm-honey, tea, and wild-forest smell of Remus Lupin, his boyfriend, his lover, his mate. Clutching at Remus with one arm, Sirius trailed the fingertips of this other hand down Remus' chest. He rubbed over a hardened nipple and then traced along the line of ribs and waist and hip bone. Sirius smiled, nuzzling into Remus' neck, when he grasped Remus' erection and began to stroke. Remus growled again, tightly in the back of his throat, and pushed forward into Sirius' hand.

Hips rocking, hands touching, skin rubbing, the two twisted around each other in exquisite pleasure. Sirius was beginning to wonder just how much more he would be able to stand when Remus suddenly withdrew from his grasp. Bereft of the lovely fingers, Sirius gasped, his unseeing eyes shooting open. At the same time, Remus' hands grabbed him and flipped Sirius over as if he were nothing more than a ragdoll. Bonelessly, Sirius sank into the softness of the bed beneath him, but Remus' hands were on his hips pulling him up.

Obeying the unspoken commands, Sirius rose to his hands and knees, pushing back as his mate ran a hand over the curve of Sirius' arse.

"Reeeeemmmmmmussss…" Sirius gasped and panted; "Mooneeeeeeeeeeeeeee…"

The only response was a possessive moan as Remus thrust forward into him. Sirius spread his legs a little more, shifting to accommodate the movements of his lover as he pounded relentlessly. In a haze of pleasure spiked with pain, Sirius could not tell if Remus was groaning or growling.

All Remus knew was the fire in his blood, the aching feeling in his chest, the delicious tightness surrounding his cock, and the breathtaking arch of his mate's back. Moving together in a rhythm easily found and _oh so right_ , Remus' world was nothing more than skin on skin and the sound of his balls slapping against Sirius' moans.

He felt as if he were losing control, as if he were transformed and Moony was running wild. Remus tightened his grip on Sirius' hips with one hand. With his other hand, he reached around and smeared the leaking precum down the hard length of Sirius' cock. Working in sync with the rocking of his own hips, Remus stroked Sirius firmly from base to swollen tip.

Remus felt as if he were losing control, and that at this time, in this place with this extraordinary man, it was perfectly okay to do so. He was a dangerous force of nature, a lightening bolt searing closer and closer; and yet, the weight and feel of Sirius around him grounded Remus at the same time. _A year and a day…_ a voice whispered in the back of his mind. _Forever and a day_ … came the echoed reply.

Feeling a familiar tug curling low in his belly, Remus arched his back and lifted his chin. His shoulder blades pulled together, expanding his chest and opening up a pathway of pure energy straight from his open mouth down through his cock, still thrusting inside Sirius, to the tips of his curled toes. His eyes slid closed on instinct, and a primal melody unfurled itself from the wolf deep inside of him. As the wild, exultant howl flew from his mouth, Remus heard Sirius keening in response. It spoke directly to something ineffable inside Remus; he pushed forward with abandon and caught the back of Sirius' neck in his teeth with a growl.

The sudden surprise and intensity of Remus' teeth, sinking into a second mark pushed Sirius over the edge. With a rush of adrenaline, he spiraled out of control arching against Remus' weight, shivering at the sensation of pain at the top of his spine, and moaning loudly as he poured his soul into Remus' hands.

With the clenching of Sirius' muscles around him and the moaning of his mate, Remus followed Sirius blissfully into orgasm. Moving deeply within Sirius, Remus shuddered and twitched. He pressed against Sirius' back, craving the contact, wrapping his arms tightly around Sirius' chest and waist.

As one, they fell forward onto the bed, rolling gently to the side in a tangle of arms and skin and legs and fingers and Remus slipped out of Sirius, but never really broke apart from him at all. Somehow Sirius turned and entwined his arms around Remus' body, fingers tangled blissfully in his honey colored hair. As one, they slipped into the dark embrace of sated sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is still "You & I" by Queen
> 
> _\- "... something else surprisingly cool and minty." [snark] If Remus doesn't recognize the taste of toothpaste, i really pity poor Sirius! [/snark]_
> 
> Once again, I adore the sharp-tongued wit of the HP readership.


	19. 6 March 1977

"I expect you have an elaborate reason for waking me at this ungodly hour of the morning."

"Naturally."

"Does it involve allowing me to thoroughly hex you?"

"My, aren't you chipper in the morning."

"Either make it worth my while, or bugger the fuck off."

"Get up, Snape. Do so quickly and quietly. This will be worth your while."

"Promises, promises, Nott. I've still got half a mind to hex you."

But Severus Snape rose anyway. Considering how often he felt the weight of the seventh year's eyes these days, it was unsurprising that Nott was now waking him up in secret for reasons as of yet unclear. Snape wrapped himself in a threadbare dressing gown and followed Nott into the deserted common room. Nott seated himself imperiously in the chair by the fireplace, closest to the little warmth given off by the glowing embers. Snape stifled a shiver and took a seat on the adjoining couch.

When Nott leaned forward to speak in hushed tones, Snape irritably waved him off. He withdrew his wand from the sleeve of his dressing gown. Nott quirked an eyebrow, moderately impressed that Snape had picked up his wand and slipped it into his sleeve without Nott noticing in the first place.

There was a brief flick and a muttered, _Muffliato_. Then the wand disappeared again. Nott was not fooled into thinking that the wand was not immediately handy to its wizard. Nott thought perhaps he ought to make a habit of waking Severus Snape early on Sunday mornings… the wizard seemed just full of pleasant surprises.

"I don't believe I've ever heard that particular charm before." Nott murmured.

"You can speak plainly, Nott." Snape snapped. "That is the purpose of that particular charm."

"I would never have assumed." Nott replied evenly. "And I would never presume that all good Slytherins were neatly tucked abed, even at this hour."

"Nor would I. We are Slytherin after all." Snape said crossly, unhappily reminded that _he_ was certainly not 'neatly tucked abed' despite it being hours from dawn. The full moon was probably still up.

"Is that charm of your own making?" Nott queried pleasantly, as if he had never even heard of sleep before. "It seems rather on par with that nasty little hex you crafted."

"Yes." Snape said shortly. "I find that I have an excess of both time and boredom in Potions class. I like to make constructive use of my faculties, and often resort to … _creative endeavors_ … while the rest of my classmates are busy melting their cauldrons and over-stirring their miserable excuses for NEWT-level draughts."

"Ahh, Potions." Nott said breezily, as if thinking nostalgically about the class that he, himself, dropped as soon as OWLS were over.

"Indeed."

"Strangely enough, that is precisely the subject about which I desired to speak with you."

"At an ungodly hour, no less." Snape said dryly, but his interest was piqued.

"The timing is a bit unfortunate… but that could not be helped." Nott admitted. He pulled a sachet from the inner pocket of his robes. Snape raised an inquisitive eyebrow as Nott continued blithely. "If I remember correctly, tonight was the one night a year that this particular plant could be harvested… the full moon immediately -"

"Preceding the spring equinox." Snape said breathlessly, his dark eyes suddenly riveted to the sachet carelessly held between Nott's index finger and thumb. " _Hyoscyamus ater_."

"Hmm? Oh, you've heard of it then?" Nott gave a lazy yawn. "I only knew that it was a magical species of Henbane."

Snape scowled darkly. "Do not play me for a fool, Nott. You know very well that all members of the genus _Hyoscyamus_ are endowed with magical properties." His eyes had not even flickered away from the cloth packet, now balancing precariously across Nott's first two fingers. He idly flipped the bag back under his hand with his ring finger, catching it again with his thumb. Snape flinched slightly in the few milliseconds while the bag seemed to fall.

"I was merely instructed that this particular type of Henbane could only be harvested under the light of this particular full moon," Nott replied loftily. "And given the location of a plant ripe for harvesting just outside of Hogsmeade."

Snape had not blinked since the conversation began.

"Unfortunately," Nott's tone of voice was heavy with mock deprecation, "I haven't the foggiest how this particular herb ought to be preserved. I fear that the magic will quite spoil if it is not properly contained before the moon sets."

"Oh for the love of Merlin!" Snape snapped. "Even a deaf fifth year would have learned _that_ much in Potions class. Tell me what you want of me, and hand over the sachet. Be quick about it, I have better things to be doing with my time."

"Do you?" Nott said in a deadly voice. His hand wrapped around the packet suddenly, hiding it from view. "Perhaps I ought to keep this herb, if you cannot accept a gift graciously."

Snape's dark glare rose from the clenched fingers to burn steadily into Nott's eyes.

"Now it seems that I have your attention again, Mr. Snape." Nott remarked dryly. "Explain to me the uses of this plant - after all, I must be certain you know what you are about to receive."

Snape's jaw muscles moved minutely as he ground his teeth together. His eyes narrowed angrily for a brief moment. Then his entire face went smoothly blank. Severus Snape recaptured his composure and sat up straighter. He folded his hands compliantly and mentally chided himself for allowing such a serious lapse in control. For one, brief moment, Severus considered scathingly rejecting Nott's haughty offers and returning to bed. But _Hyoscyamus ater_ was not to be refused lightly. Snape took an imperceptible breath, and mentally envisioned himself in a Potions practical.

" _Hyoscyamus ater_ , commonly known as Melancholy Henbane, is a particularly powerful magical species of the _Hyoscyamus_ genus, a member of the Nightshade family which also includes Belladonna and Mandrake. These inebriating plants have long histories of use as hallucinogens and particularly potent Potions ingredients."

"Say _that_ five times fast." Nott interjected wryly. Snape glowered at him before continuing smoothly.

"All solanaceous plants contain high concentrations of tropane alkaloids, primarily atropine, hyoscyamine, and finally scopolamine - which is the alkaloid primarily responsible for the hallucinogenic effects. Belladonna contains the lowest amount of scopolamine, while Henbane - and particularly Melancholy Henbane - contains the highest concentrations. The entire plant contains psychoactive constituents, but the leaves and seeds are of most use in Potions. While Belladonna causes a minimal dilation of the pupils and induces an intoxicated state of arousal, plants of the _Hyoscyamus_ genus have a wider variety of responses depending on the amount and method of usage."

"Bravo." Nott said lazily. "I can see somebody passed his Potions OWL. Your mummy must have been so proud. Tell me, did you memorize your textbook?"

"Idiot." Snape sneered. "I _rewrote_ my textbook."

Nott merely smiled indulgently. "Oh great Potions Master… please tell me more."

Snape pressed his lips together thinly for a moment, but a slight dismissive gesture of Nott's hand still holding the precious sachet spurred Severus to speak again.

"In smaller, controlled quantities, regular Henbane is useful as a pain-killer. If Melancholy Henbane is substituted in the Potion or salve, the mixture not only allays pain, but also induces a state of complete oblivion. All variety of Henbane, in larger quantities, induce visual, gustatory and olfactory hallucinations as well as a sense of intoxication. If properly balanced by other magical ingredients, Henbane in this quantity is most useful in sleep-inducing Potions particularly for trauma victims, as the user remembers nothing experienced during the intoxicated stage and falls rather quickly into a deep sleep.

The Melancholy Henbane plant is of particular note due to its rarity as well as its _particular difficulty_ in cultivation and harvest. _Hyoscyamus ater_ may only be harvested during the moonlit hours of the night of the full moon immediately preceding the spring equinox, and must also be magically preserved and stored _before the same moonset_."

Snape grit his teeth and spat the words venomously. He recovered quickly, however, and continued his impromptu lecture.

"The smoke from Melancholy Henbane seeds induces prophetic trances particularly useful to those involved in Divination and to natural Seers, such as the Oracle of Delphi. Necromancers employ Melancholy Henbane to conjure demons, but only necromancers are privy to the parts of the plant used and the method of preparation.

In Potions, Melancholy Henbane is vigorously monitored and tightly controlled by the Ministry of Magic. In most cases, certified Mastery in Potions is required to even harvest, let alone store and utilize, Melancholy Henbane. This variety of Henbane is most potent, and is even capable of causing insanity. If used improperly _Hyoscyamus ater_ is extremely toxic. Many of the Potions that utilize Melancholy Henbane are class A restricted poisons."

"You, of course, understand why those I … represent… consider this magical plant to be particularly worthwhile." Nott murmured, his lackadaisical attitude shifting suddenly. Snape's gaze narrowed and he wondered warily if he was being set up in some way.

"Those seeking Melancholy Henbane outside the … watchful eye of the Ministry, are often interested in deriving uses that compliment… darker spellcrafting. Theoretically speaking, Melancholy Henbane _might_ be a useful augmentation to the Imperius curse, as both the oblivion and the visual hallucinations would mask the caster's identity. Hypothetically, there is no limit to the number and variety of poisons one might derive from the plant."

"This is all theoretical and hypothetical, of course."

"As I have never had access to Melancholy Henbane, I would have absolutely no concrete knowledge of any of these things."

"Naturally."

"And if I were to come across Melancholy Henbane, I would of course be most interested in finding antidotes to its poisons, and perhaps perfecting variants of the Dreamless Sleep potion."

"Of course."

"Unfortunately, such altruistic uses could not be researched if those poisons were not brewed first."

"Sadly, no."

"It is a noble sacrifice a Potions Master must make. In order to find a cure, one must first brew the plague itself."

"Tragic."

"Are there any specific _antidotes_ that I ought to be particular about researching?" Snape leaned forward hungrily.

"It might be useful to look into counteragents to potions that prolong pain, potions that aid the Unforgivables, and particularly… untraceable poisons with a duration of exactly seven days."

"This is all theoretical and hypothetical, of course." Snape said dryly.

"Of course."

"As I have never had access to Melancholy Henbane."

"Naturally."

"And, most importantly, because it would be wrong."

"Don't you have something you need to complete before the moon sets, Snape?" Nott asked, inspecting his fingernails idly.

"Yes, Nott. It is called _sleeping_."

"Charming." Nott commented. "I so look forward to our delightful little chats. We should plan to speak again this time next month, as this month's full moon was so… informative."

"Wonderful." Snape fairly snarled. He stalked quickly off toward his dorm room, and the potions supplies locked in his trunk. Mentally he was already rearranging his schedule for the next twenty-eight days.

Twenty-eight days to create an untraceable poison that would run its course in exactly seven days. And to make any possible advances into the potential combinations of Melancholy Henbane with pain, torture, and the Dark Arts.

What a worthy challenge!

Despite the early hour, and the daunting task now before him, Severus Snape felt surprisingly awake. He felt alive in a way he had not felt since… Something flickered faintly in his mind, a hazy echo of deep comfort and extraordinary sensation, and a quickness in his blood that can only be caused by a particularly challenging Potion.

Severus shook the strange half-memory aside as sheer anticipation of the Potions research to come, and carefully removed the menstruum and a maceration jar from his trunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> The discussion of Henbane, etc, has been informed by chapter eleven "The Hexing Herbs" from _Plants of the Gods: Their Sacred, Healing, and Hallucinogenic Powers_ by Richard Schultes and Albert Hofmann. Amazing how even Muggles know their stuff. Twenty points to whoever correctly guess what I do with my spare time. I'll give you a hint: it has absolutely nothing to do with getting high.
> 
> _\- "Idiot." Snape sneered. "I rewrote my textbook." .... Bravo!_
> 
> There were many parts of HBP that made me unhappy... but I must say I was quite pleased to have many of my theories about Snape proven correct. My beta was impressed because I began writing this series long before HBP came out, and I hardly had to do anything to my Severus Snape to have the fic still work with canon. In fact, I believe a grand total of two sentences were actually changed - and the rest of everything simply smoothed out. Gods, I love Severus.


	20. 28 March 1977

> _Slughorn has set his written exam for Thursday 7 April.  
> _ _If you would like to borrow my textbook to study, come by the usual spot around 6:30 pm, on Tuesday 5 April.  
> _ _~ W_

Augustus Turpin scanned the familiar note thoughtfully as he absently munched on a piece of toast. He had motioned to the owl to remain, something he had never done before. Beside him, Pitaras Patil shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Is that…?" Pitaras began quietly.

"Yes, of course Pete. Hush, I'm thinking." Turpin waved a hand absently and dug a quill out of his bag. Pitaras Patil gave his fellow Ravenclaw an inquisitive look. Turpin turned toward the owl.

"Do you know who sent this message to me?" he asked the owl in a low voice.

The owl, a tawny school owl, blinked. Then it ruffled its feathers as if to say, _of course, I'm not blind._

"I will need you to take a reply for me. It will be quite unexpected, I believe, and cannot arouse suspicion from anyone else. Will you be able to hold the letter until tomorrow morning's owl post?"

The owl ruffled its feathers again, indignantly as if to say, _of course, what do you think I am? A dog?_

"A reply?" Pitaras said, his voice wavering slightly with hope. "Are you telling him off? I was thinking that maybe we should…"

But Pitaras was cut off abruptly by Turpin's cold glare.

"Telling him off? Of course not." Turpin coughed contemptuously. "We agreed to a full year of this, it would be cowardly to back out now."

"Maybe, but…" Pitaras began, thinking how cowardly it was to make the arrangement in the first place.

"Besides," Turpin continued smoothly on, "it would be dishonorable to break off an agreement. Practically like breech of contract. You know what they do with wizards who break their oaths, Pete?" Turpin turned to gaze coolly at Pitaras. The other boy shuddered slightly.

"They snap their wands and send them packing."

"Send them…"

"That's right, Pete. Back to wherever they came from. In disgrace."

Pitaras looked mournfully down at his plate of kippers and eggs. Pitaras swore that one day he would perform a special puja to beg the gods for their forgiveness for his error in judgment. Silently he swore that someday he would have the courage to make amends for his horrible mistake.

 

> _W -_
> 
> _I know that this is beyond our initial agreement, but I have a worthy friend who is also interested in extra study sessions._ _He does not want to borrow your textbook like I do, rather he has wondered about the possibility of direct correspondence with you. He will, of course, pay for the extra tutoring._ _Knowledge is, after all, priceless - and my friend appreciates your talented knack for getting the most out of information provided in this hallowed school._
> 
> _Sincerely yours,  
> _ _A.T._

 

Augustus Turpin sealed the missive carefully, and gave it back to the owl. The owl fluffed out his feathers again, and took off. Turpin turned slightly, so that he could see the Slytherin table out of the corner of his eye.

When Nott glanced his direction, Turpin gave a tiny nod.

Pitaras Patil scrapped his fork through his miserable looking eggs.

He would have to reorganize his summer. It would be hard to fit in the full-time workload, with all the studying he would need to do… but if he was dedicated enough to his texts, perhaps… just perhaps, he could pull far enough ahead during the summer to carry his last year at Hogwarts without continuing this shameful liaison.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> Puja - in Hinduism, the ritual daily devotion involving offering of food and drink and prayers to a deity. From Sanskrit meaning 'adoration, homage.' Sometimes if a person prays for something specific or has something specific to be thankful for, they offer a special puja that's somewhat different from the typical every-day prayer and worship. There are different types of Hindus (just like there are different denominations of Christians) - and the particular details of daily or special puja vary depending on the type of Hindu practiced by the individual. 
> 
> I'm not doing a very good job of explaining this, I'm sure. My suggestion would be to look it up yourself; ask someone who is actually Hindu (I'm pagan, not Hindu); and travel to India and watch it in reality. These are the three best ways to learn about something, after all.


	21. Sunday 3 April 1977

"I expect you have an elaborate reason for waking me at this ungodly hour of the morning."

"Naturally."

"Does it involve allowing me to thoroughly hex you?"

"My, aren't you chipper in the morning."

"Either make it worth my while, or bugger the fuck off."

"Get up, Snape."

"I've still got half a mind to hex you."

But Snape rose anyway and wrapped his tatty old dressing gown around his shivering figure. He paused briefly to rummage in his trunk, muttering a wide variety of unlocking charms as he dug. Finally, hold a small black case in his left hand, Snape followed Nott to the Slytherin common room.

Nott settled himself in the same chair he sat in four weeks ago, and motioned silently at the scowling boy standing before him.

" _Muffliato_." Snape grumbled, with a flick of his wand.

"Thank you, Snape." Nott said amicably. Then the boy leaned forward abruptly, his eyes glittering in a distinctly disturbing manner. "Now, show me how utterly brilliant you are."

Severus Snape allowed himself a brief smirk and the flood of sharp, angry pride. He sat austerely on the edge of the couch and balanced the black case on his lap. With a wave of his hand, there was a muffled _click_ and the lid unlatched. Severus turned the case to face Nott, and lifted the lid fully. Nestled inside the simple dark lining of the lacquered wood was a small glass dram.

Nott hungrily gazed at the pearlescent liquid inside the vial.

"It is odorless, tasteless, and dissolves instantly in water." Snape stated plainly. "And it is among the deadliest poisons known to man."

Nott lifted a dark eyebrow. His lips twisted into a thin smile.

"And can it be traced?"

"It passes through the body as water. The magical signature that remains in the corpse is that of a gross disruption in the magical core, similar to the signature left when a wizard dies due to a cerebral embolism secondary to deep venous thrombosis."

Nott leaned back into the chair, deep in thought. His gaze was dark as he ran a finger across his lips.

"I find your aptitude in not only Potions, but also human physiology, absolutely captivating." Nott finally murmured. Severus Snape felt flush with the acknowledgment, but merely inclined his head to accept the compliment as such.

"And the duration?"

"It will come to fruition and pass from the body in exactly seven days, per our previous conversation." Snape replied.

"Perfect." Nott shut his eyes briefly, inhaling slowly though is teeth. For a very long moment, there was no sound except the muted dying of the embers in the fireplace.

"My… people… will be pleased with this work, Snape." Nott finally said.

"It is time, perhaps, for us to speak plainly with each other." Severus Snape replied as he narrowed his eyes slightly. "I am, after all, about to provide you with an incredibly efficacious means of murder. I should like to know the name of my… benefactors."

"You are not concerned that once you know, we will simply use this poison to kill you as well?" Nott smirked.

"That is assuming I was not already considered a target all along. I already know more than enough information to make it worth silencing me." Snape remarked casually. "Besides, I have already concocted and imbibed the counteragent to this toxin."

"Indeed."

Snape used the pause in negotiations to close and securely lock the case again. He rested his hands nonchalantly atop the black box and gazed lazily at Nott.

"You, of course, know who - _what_ \- I am. And _You-Know-Who_ I represent." Nott finally allowed.

"I want to see it." Snape said flatly.

"It?" Nott dissembled.

"Do not play me as a fool." Snape said dryly. "The mark. Show it to me now."

Nott merely nodded sharply, once. He maintained his dark gaze at Severus Snape as he carefully pulled his left arm out of his dressing gown sleeve. Quietly, Nott flicked open the silver cufflinks and slowly rolled the sleeve up to the elbow. On his forearm, dark and ugly against his pale skin, was Morsmordre - the Dark Mark.

Satisfied with a flicker of his ebony eyes over the marred skin, Severus Snape nodded curtly.

"We will continue to supply you with ingredients as needed. Carte blanche, you understand; let it not be said that our Lord is not generous…"

" _Your_ Lord, you mean." Snape cut in severely.

Nott merely raised an eyebrow. "I believe that we have much in common, Severus Snape. Many similar ideals and ambitions. This coincidence, along with your particular brilliance, has not gone by unnoticed. Surely you must realize that my continued…attention… is an expression of interest…"

"I have no ambition to be led blindly into a life of servitude, not even to the most _generous_ of masters." Snape said witheringly.

"I believe you might be under a misguided impression of the way things work." Nott murmured soothingly. "There are… changes… afoot, Snape. You would do well to mark them. You could, in fact, be part of the new line - with a prominent place at the fore.

Our fathers might have had the right idea, but they got lost along the wayside. Wasted in petty differences. Wasted in pandering to the masses. Wasted in _alcohol and vice_. ..."

Snape trained his outward expression into a cool mask of indifference. But his ears greedily absorbed Nott's silky speech. In the dark recesses of his mind, Snape saw exactly what Nott was talking about - the wastrel fathers full of alcohol and vinegar. The squandered fortune, the waste and disrepair. Inane madmen bent on their own self-destruction, dragging their blood kin down with them…

"Oh yes," Nott breathed. "They have reached the end of their usefulness to the Dark Lord. He will put aside his childish things, his Knights of Walpurgis. It will be his Death Eaters who see him face to face. We will stand by his side. We are the young blood. The up-and-coming. What has been done so far is merely a groundwork, a foundation. Now it is our time to take what we can from this pathetic excuse for an institute of magical learning, and establish our own lives. Our own world, where worthy merit is valued. Blood traitors, Half-bloods, and Mudbloods are stealing our inheritance; the magic that rightfully belongs to us - past generations have _squandered_ and _tarnished_. We will be immortal, Snape. Immortal and unfettered by morass."

Severus Snape shivered as the image of a strong, well-ordered world flickered across his mind.

"Prove it." He whispered darkly. "Prove that you have this control, and that the ranks are ordered as you say they are… And then we will discuss my requirements as a Potions supplier… And, _perhaps_ , more."

Severus Snape handed the black case carefully to Nott, and then left with a deft twist of his dark dressing gown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> Oh yes, that is the Bible that Nott is echoing. 1 Corinthians 13:11-13… Nott does this for two reasons. First, because even the Devil can quote the Bible - just because it's the Bible doesn't make the argument (or the side arguing) correct. Second… well, go read the Bible. And then pay attention to what I've been writing about this entire series.
> 
> And yes, Snape references that wonderful scene in _The Princess Bride_ when he describes the poison as "odorless, tasteless, and dissolves instantly in water.... And it is among the deadliest poisons known to man."


	22. 11 April 1977

It was the first day of the Easter break when Professor Slughorn, the Head of Slytherin House, entered the common room looking slightly flustered.

"Nott," he called, "and Carrows, Avery, Black, Rosier, Wilkes, and Snape."

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Severus scowled at the disruption to his plans to spend most of the day enjoying the freedom from inane classmates, insipid professors, and murderous Gryffindors. Around his bed, his year-mates were already moving. Avery, Rosier and Wilkes were all moving with a purposefulness that was alarming to Severus. Even Goyle and Crabbe, not known for their intellectual dexterity, seemed to know what was going on. They nodded blearily, knowingly, at Rosier before turning back over and resuming their snoring. Severus was not an idiot, and quickly ran through the list of names called again.

Nott and Carrows were both seventh years. The sons of Death Eaters. Black, though younger and an unfortunate sibling to that Gryffindor bastard, clearly took after his parents.

And then there was Severus Snape.

He counted back seven days, dark eyes widening. Severus scrambled for his nicest set of robes and a clean, high collared shirt. When the group had gathered in the common room, Slughorn merely said heavily, "The Headmaster wishes to speak to you. Follow me." And led them off through the early-morning corridors of the sleeping castle.

When they entered the Headmaster's office, Nott and Carrows loftily took the two seats before the impressive desk. The rest stood compliantly behind, blank faces and Slytherin minds alert.

"Gentlemen," Headmaster Dumbledore began in a sad voice, "it is my unfortunate duty to inform you that your presence is requested immediately at a private wake and funerary services."

Severus was not surprised in the slightest. Apparently Wilkes and Avery were not privy to the exact details, because both boys flinched minutely beside Snape. Black did not even blink.

"Sir," Nott replied smoothly, "may I ask… who has passed away?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes gazed mournfully at Nott for a heavy moment, before flickering over the faces of each boy before him.

"Abraxas Malfoy, late Lord of Malfoy Manor, died early this morning."

Carrows gasped delicately, and lifted a horrified hand to his mouth.

"I have just now received this information, directly from young Lucius Malfoy himself. He informed me that he knew many of you during his school years, and requested your presence at Malfoy Manor forthwith."

"At least, sir," Black simpered, "it is a holiday, and this will not interfere with our schooling."

"Alas," Dumbledore replied quietly, "for such an unfortunate event, I would have allowed your trip to Malfoy Manor regardless of your class schedule. These are… dark times… upon us now, boys. It is best to remember that, and to dwell on the love and strength of true friends and family to get us through to the light ahead."

"Of course," Carrows replied mournfully from behind an embroidered handkerchief. "Headmaster, I want to thank you for your warmth and compassion during this time of pain. For all of us."

Dumbledore's expression of kindly remorse did not change. "I have arranged a portkey. The house-elves will be sending your trunks along to the Manor once you have arrived safely. And, of course, your parents have been notified of these arrangements."

As one, the group of Slytherin boys reached mutely for the bright red feather indicated by the Headmaster. Fleetingly, Severus thanked the gods that he had put on his best robes. Then the world dissolved around the hooked feeling at his navel.  
  


* * *

  
The Slytherins landed smoothly in the vestibulum of what was obviously Malfoy Manor. The courtyard clearly belonged to a wealthy pureblood family. While the space was entirely enclosed without a discernible doorway, as was expected, the area was spacious and lit with natural sunlight. A flagstone promenade bound by a stone wall and a vaulted ceiling lined the perimeter, around which ran carefully carved stone archways. The interior was a pleasant glass-roofed atrium furnished with benches and chairs around tea-tables. In the center was a bubbling fountain of silvery water.

Severus shivered slightly for, natural beauty aside, the vestibulum was a cage with no immediate exit. This was, of course, completely normal for any wizarding family even if most did not have the means to construct a vestibulum quite so large or pleasant. Most were merely foyer or entry rooms, with a simple mirror to wipe off the floo powder and a rack to hang one's cloak and sundries. Immediately behind the boys was, of course, the floo itself. A grand fireplace wide enough for three large men to stand side-by-side with polished ebony marble accouterments. On the opposite side of the vestibulum was a silver-gilded floor-to-ceiling mirror, and a bell-pull.

Beside Severus, Rosier reached out to knock Carrows across the shoulder.

" _Thank you for your warmth and compassion, Headmaster_." Rosier laughed cruelly. " _You're a beautiful, beautiful man._ "

"Yes, well," Carrows said carelessly, tucking his unused handkerchief away in his sleeve. " _Between grief and nothing… I'll take grief._ And all that rot."

Severus Snape arched an eyebrow.

"Alas," he said tragically, "April _is_ the cruelest month."

 

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Carrows gave Snape a wry grin. Rosier laughed then and knocked Snape on the arm.

"Good show, Snape. Good show."

Meanwhile, Nott strode confidently to the silver mirror. He made a minute adjustment to his immaculate robes, and pulled the bell-pull. The rest of the boys ambled casually up behind him as the silver mirror rippled like water and then took on a pearly glow. A house-elf garbed in a starched tea cozy appeared in front of the mirror and bowed very low.

"Sirs is welcomed to Malfoy Manor." The house elf said in a slightly squeaky voice. "Sirs is invited in and must follow Ermes to the study."

Bowing low again, the house elf turned and walked through the mirror, gesturing for the Slytherins to follow. As the elf led the group through the impressive Entrance Hall of Malfoy Manor, up a broad, gracefully sweeping stair, and through corridors with vaulted ceilings, Severus' eyes hungrily drank in the cultured life that he craved.

Through open doorways, Severus caught glimpses of tastefully decorated rooms with elegant furnishings. Old, stately tapestries hung on hand hewn stone walls. Polished wooden floors were graced with thick carpets of fascinating design. Although the Manor was obviously a sprawling estate, the simple elegance of its design and interior bespoke a well-minded precision that gave Severus chills.

To think about having been raised in such an environment, a world cradled by the simplicity of complexity masterfully intertwined. Like a Potion, Severus longed to run his fingers over the ingredients, testing each for their purity and perfection; to taste each on the tip of his tongue and watch the flavors combine.

As the other Slytherins carelessly strolled ahead, taking their opulent surroundings with hardly a second glance, Severus felt his mind whirling in the wealth of possibility that such a place represented. A lifetime of literature, art, grand concertos on the front lawn, trompe-l'oeil, arias from operas by Verdi, or an original Moreau hanging casually in the hallway. As Severus Snape trailed through the great hallways, he felt a bit of the embroiled bitterness recede, the heavy, angry feeling that had been hanging around his neck since before Christmas, since the attempt on his life by those idiotic Gryffindors. It truly mattered not if Black and Potter and … all the rest… did not see anything of worth within Severus Snape, because he was now within the very halls of worth themselves: _he_ \- Severus Snape - not them.

It was with a growing sense of self-satisfaction that Severus Snape was ushered into the study with the others. The furniture was heavy mahogany and leather, books lined two of the walls from floor to ceiling, and a fire burned brightly in the rustic-styled fireplace. Severus' eyes were drawn first to the books, and from the books directly to the far corner of the room where the fire light reflected warmly off the polished auburn wood of a Stradivarius perched upon a deep-blue velvet draped stand. That is the reason why he did not realize his host was in the room until a second after the other Slytherins had already moved to take their seats.

Lucius Malfoy, the new Lord of Malfoy Manor, stood slightly to the side behind his desk at the far end of the room. His flaxen hair was pulled back, as was the style, in a silver clasp; his inky black dress robes were immaculate; one elegant hand rested deliberately against the burnished oak of the mantle piece; the other hand toyed thoughtfully with a long, ebony wand. Lucius Malfoy, who did not miss even the smallest detail, saw Severus Snape before Severus Snape had even stepped into the room.

Lucius would, of course, notice Snape as Lucius knew all the rest of the Slytherins present on more familiar terms. Snape was the outsider, the raw potential to be molded, if he proved worthy. Lucius narrowed his eyes briefly, Severus Snape was the risk. But what a worthy risk he would be, indeed…and then Lucius noticed Severus' gaze fixed on the musical instrument.

"Do you play?" Lucius asked gracefully, as if they were friendly acquaintances sharing tea.

Severus, startled but able to hide his reaction, slid his eyes quickly to the right, crossing an impressive desk and finding the imposing speaker immediately. Severus would never admit that such an instrument, in fact any instrument at all, has always been beyond his means, so he did as any Slytherin would do: he told the truth.

"I haven't had the time yet."

"Such a pity." Lucius lamented, as if the poor instrument were merely collecting dust in this study as well. "What has occupied your time if not the study of music?"

"The subtle art of Potions." Severus Snape confirmed Lucius' belief that he was, indeed, the one of whom Nott had spoken. There were two new finds at Hogwarts this year, or at least, two specific finds that Nott had recommended directly to Lucius. The Informant, and the Potions expert. Nott was still… maneuvering… the former, but believed that the time was right for the latter to be… interviewed. The dark, penetrating gaze remained unflinching as Lucius studied him intently.

"Ahh, so you are the Potions Master." Lucius said thoughtfully. With a movement of his wrist, a house elf appeared with a tray of breads and pastries.

"I have not yet earned my Potions Mastery," was Severus' steady reply.

Lucius raised a curious eyebrow. Nott had not informed him in great detail about the Potions expert he had discovered. Nott had merely stated that he was Slytherin, previously overlooked, and recently of a ripe mind for... the cause. Lucius also knew that any ambitious seventh year could petition the ministry for Mastery-level testing, as long as that student was in good standing in his NEWT level course, and had a teacher's recommendation or an approved apprenticeship. Any Slytherin with the skill and subtlety required to produce… the single vial that Lucius had gratefully received one week ago…

"But surely you will be awarded Mastery before the end of this year." Lucius questioned.

"No." Severus Snape scowled momentarily. "Next year."

"You are only in your sixth year?" Lucius was, needless to say, slightly surprised. "I see now. Truly impressive."

"Well then," Lucius continued, turning to face all of the young men in the room, "Slughorn's obvious loss is most certainly our precipitous gain. We are now in the position we have been planning for since my own graduation from Hogwarts, due to the hard work of many and a singularly excellent display of Potions skill from our new Potions Master. Shall we raise a toast?"

Severus found himself ushered to a seat directly to Nott's right, immediately beside Carrows. And a glass of thick crystal was placed in his hand as a silent house elf moved from man to man pouring two fingers of a fine amber liquid.

"A toast then." Lucius repeated, raising his glass once all had been served. "To my beloved father. Abraxas Malfoy. May he forever burn in whatever pit he finds himself." - there were muted voices of agreement - "And to Severus Snape, the finest Potions Master my father has never seen!"

Severus knew then, without a doubt, that Nott had not been lying. Having provided his end of the bargain, Severus now found himself immediately ushered into … the inner sanctum of Lucius Malfoy… among a few of the leaders of the next generation. As if reading his thoughts, Nott leaned closer to Severus and whispered behind his glass, "Is this proof enough, Snape? The mark will merely be formality after this. Say the word, and you're in."

Severus' throat was on fire as the alcohol burned its way down to the cold pit of his stomach. Then Lucius Malfoy began to speak:

"Look at us, boys. Rich, elite, well-raised… Scions of all that is the wizarding world herself."

A richly clothed arm swept out in a broad gesture. Lucius walked forward to join their informal circle. He leaned casually against the front of his desk; Black had lit a pipe and across the circle Avery had relaxed generously back into his leather armchair. It was surreal when Severus Snape accounted for the fact that they were most not even 20 years of age.

"We have much to accomplish this week. I expect the rest of our colleagues to be arriving shortly, and only some of your time will be taken up with… proper _mourning_ … I do hope you thought to pack at least _one_ pair of black dress robes, yes?" Even when Lucius Malfoy leered, he still remained the epitome of grace, class, and social poise. Lucius paused then, taking a slow drink. He studied the liquid in the crystal. Firelight played across the surface of the glass, dancing radiant sparks around the room. The cool flint eyes drifted over to the Stradivarius, and then flicked once more across Severus Snape.

"Muggles." Lucius finally declared, placing his glass delicately on the edge of the desk. "Muggles are the very embodiment of the word _déclassé_. They are the epitome of waste and ignorance. I am pleased to say, now that our addled forefathers are out of the way, we will be enabled to actively fight against this insipid waste as it threatens to overtake the very culture we ourselves treasure more than any pithy wealth."

And Severus knew without a doubt that his answer for Nott will be, emphatically, _yes_.

"Here, here." Avery said, raising his glass briefly. "Waste and ignorance like that… spreads quicker than Dragon Pox among second years."

Black nodded sagely, and sucked deeply on the end of his pipe. Severus wondered idly if his parents knew that he partook in such a ghastly activity, or if indeed it was Black's father who taught him the pastime in the first place. Severus thought for a moment about his father, and about how his wasteful ways slowly dragged his family's property into disrepair. Severus thought about his father's ignorance of his mother's world, of Severus' magical development, and his fathers blind refusal to learn. Severus thought about the Mudblood, Lily Evans, and the praise that she stole from Slughorn's lips that rightfully belonged to Severus Snape. Severus thought about the way that Lucius Malfoy had raised a toast to _him_ , had recognized _his_ unparalleled ability in Potions, had now given _him_ his proper due. Severus thought he ought to be listening more closely to what these young men had to say.

"Yes," Wilkes was arguing, "but what of _capacity_. It is the classic 'changeling' scenario: if we are truly blank slates when we are born, not predisposed to any particular culture or belief system… then would it not stand to reason that a Muggle infant, properly removed from its progenitors and transplanted into a Magical family would at least demonstrate the _capability_ to learn to appreciate the finer aspects of life?"

"That cannot be reasonably argued, Wilkes!" Rosier objected, tossing back the last of his glass and waving the house elf for another.

"Why not?" Wilkes said stubbornly. "Even wizards like… the _Weasleys_ might be trained up, might be taught an appreciation for true culture."

"You can take a Weasley to an opera, but Merlin forbid if the Weasley were to sing…" someone chuckled in the background. But Rosier, armed with his refreshed glass, was already mounting his offensive:

"I concede that a wizarding family such as the Weasleys might have the capacity to understand, the latent ability that might be teased carefully away from the freckles and patched clothing. But a Muggle! A Muggle cannot even see the _truth_ of the Real World, the _magic_ that is so obviously enmeshed in existence."

"And how," Severus caught the train of thought, "could a Muggle thus blind to _mere reality_ ever see, let alone appreciate, love, _hunger for_ , the Truth and Beauty of a fine red wine? A potion might be made to correct poor vision… but there is no cure for congenital blindness."

"Yes! Yes, exactly!" Lucius Malfoy pointed at Severus Snape. And then he smiled, like a radiant sunburst from a cloud. Voldemort might be their Lord, Severus smirked, but Lucius Malfoy was their leader.

"Besides," Avery said lazily, "even if Wilkes' changeling scenario might work, what sort of magical family would _want_ to foster a Muggle? It would be like having a natural born Squib, what a shame!"

And Severus realized that Wilkes had not been speaking hypothetically; Wilkes had been offering up a serious plan of action for consideration. Severus was a Potions student, not a horticulturist, he cared little about theories of transplanted children. Besides, grafting Muggle children into the magical world would only increase the number of half-bloods and half-breeds… and Severus shivered reflexively. He'd rather brew Potions for Lucius Malfoy to use as he saw fit, than follow that train of thought any further.

Severus acknowledged that the thought of half-bloods and half-breeds filled him with intense loathing, bitterness, and anger... and listening to his fellow Slytherins today, Severus thought perhaps he was beginning to understand _why_.

Lucius was correct, there was much work to be done. And it would take much longer than one week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> Shameless quotation from the movie _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_. Followed by a quotation from T.S. Eliot. 
> 
> Pay attention to who is quoting what - mindless, yet very entertaining popular culture versus classic, insightful literature. 
> 
> Somebody really ought to find better friends… but what can you do?


	23. 18 May 1977

One figure waited quietly in the shadow of a bend in the dungeon corridor. He was inconspicuous enough, and not easily identified - unless you were already very familiar with "Mr. Shadowy Slytherin" as an associate. Wormtail, for example, with his sharp black eyes recognized the shadow immediately as the exact same shadowy person he had met on numerous occasions to trade information throughout the school year. The rat paused for a moment to pick the best place for his secret transformation; before the shadow could even blink, a familiar cloaked boy stood across the hallway and a bit to the left. The cloak and the darkness of an adjoining corridor masked the boy's identity, but the familiarity was the same as always.

"You." Nott said from the shadows.

"Me." Pettigrew said dryly from the folds of his cloak.

"Can't say as how I'm surprised at all."

"Well, I'm surprised that the Ravenclaws would befriend a Slytherin." Pettigrew replied snidely. "Times are dark, I thought the Ravenclaws were supposed to be the smart ones."

"Clearly not smart enough," Nott chuckled in a contemptuous manner, "as they are apparently in the habit of receiving extra study…notes."

"I am beginning to wonder if the ones in the shadows are the only smart ones left." Pettigrew commented breezily.

"Really now?" Nott raised an eyebrow; the interview was truly progressing much more smoothly than initially anticipated.

"Even the lions are fettered by their foolhardy _bravery_." The comment was bitter, mocking.

"That's an interesting description of your fellow Gryffindors." Nott said neutrally.

"What makes you think I'm not a Hufflepuff?" Pettigrew demanded slyly.

Even in the shadows, it was clear that the other young man had raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"Well," Pettigrew muttered huffily, "I could be."

"Oh, no." Nott admonished lightly. "No, you are not a _loyal_ Hufflepuff. You, my dear boy, are brave enough to betray the confidence of your so-called friends… but not nearly ambitious enough to lead them into a new point of view."

"I'm not betraying anyone!" Pettigrew interrupted defensively. "I'm just…"

"Of course you aren't." Nott said soothingly from the shadows. "A poor choice of words on my part, forgive me. I merely mean that you truly have Gryffindorian courage to be forging a separate path.

Why, I bet the rest of them are just blindly accepting the roles that Dumbledore assigns them in this war. Yes?"

"Well…" Pettigrew muttered, mostly to himself. "Potter and Black _are_ thinking about working for the Ministry…"

"Of course they are." Nott said disdainfully. "But not you."

"Ummm… I don't -"

"No, you are trying to take action! You are nobly deciding _for yourself_ where you belong in this ruddy mess."

"I … yes… I guess I am…"

"That's why you've been meeting with me, I assume." Nott added just enough genuine surprise in his voice to sound as if he had only just now cottoned on to the other boy's grand scheme. "You're really quite clever. And skilled too.

Figuring out how to get those Ravenclaws in your pocket. Coming here to ask me questions about different points of view. It shows strength of character. Why - you're really a _better_ Gryffindor than any of the rest of them! How extraordinary."

"You're right." Pettigrew said slowly, and then a little smugly, "I am."

"You're a much better person than I am, you know." Nott said breathily.

"Oh, really?" Pettigrew tried to sound haughty, instead of just a bit confused.

"If it were me, I would be very angry at my so-called friends. They're obviously cowards. They fear what they don't understand, and they don't understand the shadows - the 'Dark Arts.' But you put your fear aside and came to understand the shadows… and now look at you. I bet there's a hundred things you know that they are utterly blind about, right?"

"Exactly!" Pettigrew shifted his stance, clearly becoming more agitated. "They fear what they don't understand, and they're too pig-headed to even try to learn. They don't see anything, not like I do… They don't see me."

"Oh, but I do." Nott murmured quietly, closing in for the kill.

The cloak shifted again, and fluttered slightly as the young man inhaled sharply.

"That's why I told those silly Ravenclaws to arrange this meeting."

A soft exhale, barely discernible even in the hushed still of the dungeons.

"I wanted you to finally see me face to face, instead of through the shadows. It's time to put away the secrecy and speak plainly, as men."

"I… I… need my secrecy -" Pettigrew began stammering.

"Of course," Nott interrupted smoothly, not allowing the other boy to escape from the carefully woven net of words. "Your cloak-and-dagger. Naturally. You are an Informant…. Your identity is a precious commodity. I _respect_ that. I merely mean that it is high time for you to speak plainly to _me_."

"What…what do you mean?" The response was hesitant, but having a title, a respected position, had caught the young man's ear.

"For example," Nott said smoothly, "I am a 7th year. I will be leaving Hogwarts for good in a few short weeks. I should like to continue our… assorted correspondence… after I have left."

"Really?" It was almost a squeak.

"Of course. I enjoy hearing your ideas. I imagine owl will do quite nicely - that way I needn't know if you are still at Hogwarts or if you've left as well; either way we will be able to communicate quite regularly. But there _is_ the little matter of addressing our owls, you see?"

"Oh. Yes. I see."

Nott took a deep breath, steeling himself for his big concession. After all, one had to give a little to gain a lot. Then he stepped forward out of the shadows. "Your letters may be sent to my flat in Diagon Alley. Thaddeus Nott."

The Informant pulled his cloak tighter, and for one long moment Nott could hear Lucius Malfoy's displeased reprimand at having fouled up the interview… Then there was a whisper, like dry leaves on an autumn wind:

"… Wormtail.   
You can send things to Wormtail… The owls know who I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ A/N and Crit. Replies ~
> 
> And that, as they say, is that.   
> Just as Past Tense began with a Prologue, there is an Epilogue too. But, really... we all know what's coming, don't we?


End file.
